Thicker Than Water
by Beaubier
Summary: Completed! Aurora and Northstar, Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch, the Brotherhood, the XMen, the Acolytes. Alliances are tested, ties are cut, and siblings find out if blood really is thicker than water. Third in a series, but could stand alone.
1. Introduction

TITLE: Thicker than Water  
AUTHOR: Beaubier  
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: xbeaubier@hotmail.com  
FANDOM: X-Men: Evolution  
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Why not, eh? Just drop a line.  
CATEGORY: Drama/Action/Adventure  
RATINGS/WARNINGS: Rated pg-13 for language, violence and adult themes.  
SUMMARY: Aurora and Northstar, Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch, the Brotherhood, the X-Men, the Acolytes. Alliances are tested, ties are cut, and siblings might find out if blood really is thicker than water. Third fic in a series, but can stand alone, if necessary.  
DISCLAIMER: I didn't invent the X-Men, and I have nothing to do with Evolution. I'm sure that's been made abundantly clear by this time.   
NOTES: In Relativity, the Beaubiers came to Xavier's. In Here Comes Trouble, they made friends, made enemies, played jokes, had a laugh, felt love, felt pain, and got to know each other and their new surroundings. And here, everything they've learned, about each other, about love, about life, is put to the test. This fic revolves around the Beaubier twins, as well as the Maximoff twins, equally. Other major players will include Warren, Scott, Jean, Rogue, Remy, Kurt, and Bobby. And possibly more. 

  


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_Introduction:_

Here's the recap, on the events from the two fics before this one, _Relativity _and _Here Comes Trouble._ If you've read them, don't bother reading this. If you haven't but feel you need background after starting this story, this should help.

After Ascension, most mutants settled back into their usual groups. Magneto left his children with a check, and said he'd be back for them soon, and Xavier returned to his Institute. Before long, he detected a mutant in a Catholic orphanage-school in LaVelle, Quebec, one Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, a mutant with the ability to speed the molecules in her body to the point where she can generate extended pulses of super-speed (almost indefinite ones), a faint aura of light around her body, and flight capability. Soon after she was brought to the Institute, her long lost twin brother, Jean-Paul, was also found, and agreed to come to the Institute to be with her– the only family he had left. His powers are similar to hers, without the light, but when the two come into contact, they both augment one another's abilities, and generate blinding flashes of light. 

Magneto, in the meantime, had found that one villain known to him only as Sinister had ties to Apocalypse, and sent Gambit on a reconnaissance mission, to find out about the man's goals and capabilities. Gambit was taken, and his mind probed. Sinister, who has a great interest in mutant genetic research, extracted from Gambit's mind the information that Magneto had twin children, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Taking an interest in what that kind of genetic situation, that of having a twin, could possibly mean for mutants with such strong powers, he sent his henchmen, the Marauders, to secure the twins for him. 

In the meantime, the Beaubier twins were just settling in to life at the Institute. Jeanne-Marie took the name Aurora, and Jean-Paul Northstar, and they were both put on the X-Men team. Rogue and Jean-Paul quickly developed a friendship, and Jean-Paul quickly developed a crush on the Brotherhood speedster, Quicksilver. Aurora, in the meantime, spent most of her time going between two extremes– one a wild party-girl who liked to flirt and have fun, the other an emotionally scarred girl who barely spoke passable English. One particularly fiery disagreement with her opinionated (to a fault) brother led her to become a crying puddle of joual-babbling X-girl for almost an entire day, when she'd been dancing and partying the night before.

Before long, Gambit escaped Sinister and called the Xavier Institute, warning Rogue about the Maximoff twins, and the X-Men were dispatched to make certain that Wanda and Pietro were kept safe. Storm, Iceman, and Wolverine went to find Gambit in London, and the others rushed to save the Maximoffs– but were just a little too late. Jeanne-Marie Beaubier was wounded and taken in the fight, along with Pietro. Jean-Paul saved Wanda at the last moment. 

The Marauders, as it turns out, had seen the Beaubier twins, and thought to win themselves extra points with the boss by bringing in _both _pairs of mutant twins. Obviously, Sinister was none too happy when he discovered that he had not one set of twins, but one twin each from two different sets. Still, he decided to go ahead with his experiments, and probed Jeanne-Marie and Pietro as he had Gambit. Eventually, however, the X-Men found them, and rescued them. Gambit admitted to Pietro that it had been his fault that Sinister had even known about the twins, and that Magneto had sent him to find out about the new villain in town. Pietro was less than surprised, or impressed, for that matter. 

The strain of the experience on Jeanne-Marie made it clear to the Professor that she has dissociative disorder, and that her two extremes were in fact two very different personalities. One, the weaker of the two, the one that she retreats into under too much pressure, fear, or stress, she associates with the Jeanne-Marie of the orphanage. The other, brought out in her by a good time, or when she feels most free or capable, she associates with the Aurora of the X-Men. Her brother vowed to do all he could for her, and the twins' bond only grew stronger as they found that they had a constant, low-level, controllable psi-link. 

After their first adventure, the twins had time to relax for awhile. Jean-Paul began spending more and more time with Pietro Maximoff, who he had never stopped crushing on. Eventually, Pietro began to reciprocate, and the two became best friends, if not quite lovers, at first. Jeanne-Marie started dating Roberto DaCosta, and became close friends with Bobby Drake and Kitty Pryde. There were many fluffy adventures in their first months at the Institute and Bayville High, but the long and short of it is that: 

1– Jeanne-Marie became enamored with art and writing, and eventually had to break up with 'Berto due to his jealousy, although they remain close friends.

2– Jean-Paul and Pietro's friendship turned into much more, after much fighting and pretending on both of their parts, and they now have an odd sort of "best friends with sex" relationship that both are reluctant to admit will ever be anything more.

3– Scott and Jean's relationship has grown colder, and Scott has expressed confusion, if not yet disappointment, with the way things are happening since she has moved to her school dorm in the city. Scott serves in an RA capacity at the Institute now, and attends a local community college.

4– Warren Worthington has recently asked for help regarding Worthington Industries' holdings. He fears nefarious interests are being funded by his family, and the Professor and Jean have been working with him to try and eke them out.

5– Sam Guthrie and Wanda Maximoff, after a random drunken hook up one night, have recently started dating, much to everyone's shock and amazement. It isn't serious, at this point, but they are both taken with each other, evidently.

6– Jean-Paul did not approve of his sister's relationship with Roberto, who he did not trust, and when he expressed happiness at their break-up, Jeanne-Marie called him a prick, and stopped talking to him entirely (JP has been doing that to her a lot, it's entirely justified!)

7– Rogue insists that her association with Gambit is nothing, but carries the card he gave her, the queen of hearts, in her back pocket, and Remy somehow had the number to the Xavier Institute memorized when he was taken captive by Sinister.

8– Alex Summers recently informed his big brother that he is gay, and is nursing a silent crush on his roommate, Ray Crisp. Ray does not reciprocate his feelings, but does think of Alex as a great friend, and has no problem with living with a gay man. Only Jean-Paul knows about Alex's crush, although Ray and Scott also know that Alex is, in fact, gay.

I think that about covers the damage I've done to the Evo-verse, thus far. If you're still feeling brave, by all means, read on. 

  
  



	2. Angels and Nightmares

_Not quite two weeks later..._

Chapter One: Angels and Nightmares

Warren Worthington III stood up from the painfully uncomfortable desk chair, the chair that he could've sworn was should have been forming to fit his backside, considering how much time he'd spent in it during the last two weeks. He reached his arms high, and his wings out wide to their full twelve-foot span, feeling the tight muscles along his back stretch joyfully for the first time in hours. 

God. He really needed to fly.

He looked over at the redheaded girl who had sat beside him all day, the beautiful and capable Jean Grey. She was half hidden from him as he sat by a huge pile of portfolios and files, and her desk was buried by the same kinds of things. Her pale face was lit, as much as he could see it, by the blue and white flashing of the computer monitor she'd been staring into for hours, and the curve of her jaw was set so that he knew she wouldn't be giving up any time soon.

He barely knew her. But he had seen enough of her in the past few weeks to know that expression on her face. She was close to something, they both were. And she didn't want to give up until they found it.

But really. He h_ad_ to fly. 

"Jean," he said softy, putting a hand on her shoulder gently, hoping to not scare her. She was very intense when she was working, and more than once he'd startled her into jumping, when he'd spoken to her.

She looked up at him with large green eyes, quickly. But she didn't jump. 

He smiled at her, and spoke again, "I need to go out for a little while. Can I get you something? Have you eaten today?"

Jean blinked, and her smooth white brow furrowed marginally. "No, Warren, I haven't eaten."

She looked tired, already. And she had a test in two days, in her biochem class. He knew she did, she'd mentioned it to the Professor earlier this weekend. And here she was, helping him slog through this mess, the mess his family had made for him... 

But he couldn't trust anyone else. No one else could be allowed to know what to look for. They would all wonder why, exactly, he needed to know who was researching what, and specifically, what effect it was having on the recently exposed mutant community. Only someone from the Institute could be trusted. And Jean had volunteered. 

Not that he was complaining. Jean Grey was beautiful, intelligent, funny, and quite distracting, at times. Distracting in the best possible way. 

Years ago, he would've spent the entire time flirting with her. Funny, to think of how things had changed, in just a few years. The advent of his mutation, his extremely obvious physical mutation had kept him from ever getting too close to a girl. Or to anyone, for that matter, for years now. 

Including his own parents.

But the point, of course, was that there was a very hungry girl who was busting her tail to help him sort out his business, and she was starving thanks to his lack of hospitality. 

"Why don't you take a break?" He offered. "I need to get out and fly, and you look like you could use a little fresh air. We can just start again tomorrow. Or I could call Scott or Rogue, I know they'd–,"

Jean shook her head, and pushed herself to standing, shrugging off his hand lightly, "No, I want to do this. They don't know what to look for, and I do. I'll just go for a walk, and get us some Chinese."

"I'll get it," he smiled, gently.

Jean blinked, and then stared at him for a moment.

Funny, he thought, how they'd both been so fresh and ready to work this morning. And look at them now. Zombies. 

"I'll be back before long," he told her, fluttering his wings lightly, in anticipation of what he knew was to come. He felt so caged in this little room they'd set up in his own place, for fear of his parents coming home from London and catching him hard at work examining their company under a microscope in search of mutant interests, if they set up at the mansion.

He saw her eyes shift away from his at the sudden movement, and down to his wings, which he knew were visible behind him, over his shoulders. And experienced a slight flash of self-consciousness. He still wasn't used to people who looked him in the eye knowing about them. And as much as he loved them, as much joy as his mutation could give...

It was difficult to be comfortable with it when others were near, even around the X-Men. Just yet, anyhow. 

But her eyes quickly found his again, and she smiled, gently. "Sure, Angel. I'll just go for a walk."

"I'll be back with food," he promised, as he turned to go. 

He tried to rid his eyes of the residual flashing lights and endless black and white glow of text files from the monitor he'd been staring at as he made his way up the stairs of his Manhattan penthouse, up to the roof of the Worthington Towers. It was the middle of the day, but it was cloudy enough that he could hide, as long as he managed to take off without anyone seeing. If he went around back, and took off almost straight upward, he knew that the chances of being spotted were slim to none. 

He stepped up onto the ledge he normally took off from, if he had to fly during the day, and spread his wings wide, stretching them. He brought them down once, with the loud whooshing sound that the powerful beat of his wings always created, and pushed off the ground lightly. A few more quick beats, and he was off the ground and rising straight up, pushing hard and fast, with no air current under him to glide upward on. Just pushing until he could feel the burn in his wings, along the joints in his back, just down from his shoulder blades, along the ridges of muscle that extended down his back from there. 

When he reached the first cloud bank, he suddenly tilted his wings tip upward, letting the sensitive skin under his feathers feel out the wind, in a split second of almost weightless hovering. And in a moment, he was riding the current, before he even realized that he'd picked up on it. Just gliding along. Feeling alive. 

This was when he felt most like himself. This was when it didn't matter that he was a freak, that his own parents could never really know him, that he had responsibilities on his twenty year old head that most fifty year old men didn't have to think of. No, up here, he was just free. And the wind was in his hair, and his mind was consumed by the sun and the sky, and his heart started to beat faster, the harder he beat his wings...

Felt so good. Felt like home. Let him forget the dark room full of sinister files that was waiting for him back at the penthouse. Let him forget that he was a mutant, a freak. Let him forget the responsibilities, the pain, the fear, everything. 

God, he loved to fly.

* * * 

Scott Summers jumped off the metal table and grabbed for his shirt instantly. "Do you really have to keep it so cold in here, Mr. McCoy?" He asked the large, furry blue man hanging from the ceiling, preparing the blood sample he'd just taken from Scott as part of his annual check-up. 

"Unless you'd like me to refer to you perpetually as Mr. Summers, Scott," Came the jovially rumbling response, entirely ducking the question, "I would suggest that you call me by the name my mother assigned me– I'm called Hank."

Scott cleared his throat uncomfortably. They'd had this conversation before, but it was strange, calling an ex-teacher by his first name. Lately, all the grown-ups in the house had started pulling that routine on him. Storm had insisted that he call her Ororo just yesterday, in fact, and Logan had growled at him for attaching a "Mr." to the beginning of his name. 

Not that he minded. He liked being treated as an adult. Deserved it.

But they could be a little more understanding about him needing the time to adjust. After all, he did it out of respect. "No thanks... Hank. Mr. Summers makes me feel just a little too old," he replied, after pulling his shirt back over his head and tucking it in quickly. "So what do you think, am I fit to lead the X-Men?"

Soundlessly, and with a grace that Scott could hardly believe from such a large man, Mr. McCoy flipped over and landed on the floor, test tube still in hand and unspilled and turned to face him. "I believe so. Other than the mental strain which you are so obviously trying to repress, that is."

Involuntarily, Scott clenched his jaw. 

_Yeah, and thanks for reminding me, _Hank.

One caterpillar-like eyebrow raised on Beast's forehead, and he cocked his head. "I'll assume it's not school, and since all is well with the X-Men, I can only venture a guess that it's young love."

Young love. Heh. 

"Something like that. Do you need me for anything else?"

The questioning expression disappeared from the good doctor's face, and he immediately turned business like. "You are free to go, my friend."

Rigidly, Scott nodded, and started toward the door, trying very hard not to think. Just like he had been all week. 

"Scott," Hank's voice stopped him with his hand on the doorknob. "Should you require anything... a Twinkie, a Band-Aid, or just someone to talk to... the door to this laboratory is always open."

"Yeah," The younger man turned to look over his shoulder, and offered up a half smile that he knew was weak. But it was the best he had, at the moment. "Thanks."

Hank nodded, offered a toothy smile, and turned back to his work.

And Scott headed out into the halls of the Xavier Institute, still trying not to think, but finding that Mr. McCoy's kind words had loosened the dam he'd built up inside of himself over the past week and a half. 

Young love. Jean. He hadn't seen her in a week, at least. And when he had seen her last, they'd been so... cold. Nothing to say, nothing new, nothing special. Just... well, yeah. Cold. 

And Alex. Jesus, he felt like an idiot for reacting the way he had when Alex had told him he was... 

Right. Gay. Dammit, not as if it was a dirty word, or something.

He'd never had trouble with anyone else being gay. (Well, not that he knew anyone else who was other than JP, but hell, that had certainly never bothered him!) Why he'd been so stupid, so uncertain, when Alex had told him his news, he had no idea. He was over it, mostly, now. But he hadn't been able to meet the kid's puppy dog brown eyes since their little "talk" over a week ago. And he felt like a complete ass. 

Hell, he'd even been avoiding JP, he felt so bad.

Scott sighed, as he started up the stairs for his own room, to try and get some school work done. It occurred to him that Alex's favorite descriptive term for his big brother when he was in a mood was the only thing that could really describe Scott's state of mind at the moment. He was, most definitely, "angsting." 

* * * 

Jean-Paul watched Jeanne-Marie and Kurt laughing with each other in the yard. The two of them were always inseparable on Sunday afternoons, since they'd started going to mass together in the morning. Jean-Paul, who had little time for the Church, and honestly didn't have that much for god in general if he really thought about it, couldn't understand. 

Normally, it didn't bother him. Normally, he was glad that she had found someone to talk to, someone who understood her on that level. He certainly couldn't, no matter how strongly she projected over their empathic link. It just wasn't his "thing." 

But today, he was annoyed, watching them. Because Jeanne-Marie hadn't spoken to him since she and Roberto DaCosta had broken up, nearly two weeks before.

"What the hell is with the long face?" A familiar voice asked beside him. 

Normally, Northstar had no trouble seeing Quicksilver coming. While Pietro was faster than Jean-Paul, by a great deal, the Canadian X-Man had a brain that could process certain kinds of information just as fast as he was capable of moving– and simple visual information was on that short list. It was one of the many ways his mutation allowed him to keep up with his silver-haired best friend, in fact. 

But he'd been so engrossed in standing there, brooding over his sister's inattention to him lately, that he hadn't even noticed this time. 

He rolled his eyes, immediately readying himself for contact with the outside world, wiping all traces of emotion from his face, and turned to look at his friend. Pietro was standing there, leaning on a tree, arms crossed over his chest, looking at him with platinum eyebrows raised high, expectantly.

And then he swallowed hard. 

Pietro had always been pretty. But lately, he was damn beautiful, for some reason. And it made Jean-Paul just the tiniest bit uncomfortable, really.

"My sister," he nodded in the direction of his raven-haired sister and the fuzzy blue elf sitting on the grass near the soccer goal across the yard. 

"Still not talking to you, huh?"

Jean-Paul shrugged, and turned away from the two laughing figures in the distance, so that he wouldn't have to look at them and could pretend it was no big deal. "I just assumed she would've forgiven me by now, is all."

"You actually apologized to someone?" Pietro smirked, coming to stand closer, and then starting to walk back toward the house with him, at that slow, measured pace that Jean-Paul recognized as Pietro at his most controlled. It always struck him as a little odd, when Pietro moved so slowly. The Brotherhood speedster only did that for extended periods of time if he was very engrossed in what he was talking about (which usually meant he was talking about himself), or in certain situations involving very little clothing, a lot of sweat, and Pietro trying to make something last.

"Of course not," Jean-Paul scoffed, already fully returned to sarcastic mode, after his moment of being hurt by his sister. "But she's been mad at me before, Pietro, and she always forgives me."

Pietro rolled his eyes now, and gave his friend a playful punch in the arm, "This is _Jeanne-Marie_ you're talking about, right? She's gone girl power, man, since she dumped DaCosta. You're gonna have to beg."

"I don't beg," he sniffed.

"True," Pietro admitted. "But you'd look so good doing it, JP."

Jean-Paul pretended that he didn't like the sound of that, and returned the punch, taking the opportunity to get off the subject. But when he looked back at Pietro, who was now laughing at him outright, he noticed that there were faint dark circles under the other boy's cobalt eyes. He hadn't noticed at a distance, but up close... it was odd. Pietro always looked perfect. "What's wrong with you?"

Pietro rubbed at his arm where Jean-Paul had hit him, and kept grinning, "Where to begin, as Wanda would say!"

But Jean-Paul was serious now, because it really was a little disturbing. Not that obvious, probably no one else would notice it... but yes. It was definitely there. "You look... _tired_."

The other boy blinked for a moment, and his eyebrows drew down and together, in a strange combination of confusion and frustration. "I haven't been sleeping well, I guess."

Jean-Paul knew very well that it took a hell of a lot to tire Pietro out to the point where he could finally lay down and fall asleep. It usually required running uncountable laps, or staying up for two days at a time, in fact. The guy was unstoppable, really. But once Pietro was out, he was out like a fucking light. "What's that about?"

"Just happens sometimes," Pietro told him, shrugging, but avoiding his eyes now. He turned to look straight ahead, and started walking a little faster. "Who knows why. Mutation or something. Hey, don't you think we should have a Halloween party? I told Lance we should, but he is being a dick, as usual. Iwannamakeacostumethough!"

Irritated, but knowing it was better to quit when he was ahead, Jean-Paul let it drop, and began discussing the impending holiday with his friend, instead of their obviously too-personal-to-share-with-the-guy-I'm-sleeping-with issues. 

As usual.

After all, if he wasn't willing to confess himself, he could hardly expect Pietro to. 

* * *

Jean rubbed at her temples, trying to rid herself of the throbbing headache she could feel coming on. It was there, vaguely, already. In a few hours, it'd be a full-blown, migraine style headache. 

They'd been at this for over a week now, she and Warren. The Professor had come with her, to see the factories, visit the companies, and generally look over the vast holdings of the Worthington family. Angel had recently been encouraged by his parents to take a greater interest in the family business, as their only child and heir, and he had done as they asked... only to find some disturbing rumors about the research and technology companies that were listed under the Worthington Industries heading. 

Of course, he'd called the Professor. Warren's family knew nothing about his mutation. He never talked about why, or, for that matter, how the hell he'd managed to hide a twelve-foot wingspan from his own parents. But Jean gathered that they spent most of their time at the family home in London, and left Warren here in the States to handle every day things. They wanted him to come with them, that much she'd discerned from a chance listen at a message on his answering machine, but Angel had made it clear that he had no interest in either moving to London, or in talking about his parents, in the short time Jean had spent with him. 

And she _was _enjoying spending the time with him. Even if they didn't say much, aside from business talk. 

She told herself it was just because she was irritated with Scott lately. She knew she'd been stand-offish with him since she'd moved to school. She hadn't done it on purpose, of course, but things were just so... complicated, in her head. School was a whole new world, studying chemistry and biology at the University was so consuming, she had so many meetings to attend, classes to keep up on, professors to talk to. And then coming home to Xavier's on the weekend, training with the X-Men, special sessions focusing on her formidable telepathic powers, powers that were not nearly as developed as her telekinesis...

She just didn't have the time to talk to him every night. And slowly, as one night became two, and two became three... she let it go further and further until she didn't have the time to talk to him _any _night. 

Her mother had mentioned this, when Jean had first left for school. Relationships are hard to keep up like that, Jean. It takes effort. And if he's not worth the effort, you won't exert it.

Only... Scott _was _worth the effort. It was just that she only had so much effort in her, really. And it was all going... well, other places.

"Jean, did you look at the ExGen files from just after the incident with Magneto and the Sentinels? That increase in activity _has _to mean something. The investors were pouring their money in, but they're the big guns. The Swiss bank account big guns...," Warren's soft, low voice trailed off slowly as he shuffled papers on his utterly destroyed desk.

She looked over at him, and tried to process the information he was giving her. Magneto. Sentinels. ExGen. Investors. 

She'd been at this forever, it felt like. And she hated it. 

She had a test in two days in biochem, a Danger Room session tomorrow that she'd promised to run, and she desperately needed to meet up with her English group to work on their presentation before they came hunting her down. She should've told Scott to do it. Or Rogue. Angel had asked for both of them, in fact.

But she'd offered. She was the logical choice, having gone with the Professor on all those tours, hearing all of Warren's theories and concerns during that weekend they'd spent with him. And, to be honest...

Warren fascinated her.

It was stupid. She knew it for what it was, a silly, childish crush because she was irritated with her boyfriend. And along comes the angel, golden and strong and silent. Not to mention beautiful. They had nothing in common, nothing to talk about other than the fact that they were both mutants.

But then, neither did she and Scott lately.

Jean took a deep breath, and shook hear head slightly. "Yes, of course, I'm sure it has something to do with the rumors. But we've checked ExGen out, we have all the files. There's no chance–,"

"Here!" He suddenly announced, stabbing his finger at his monitor, and then down at the paper in front of him, heroic face taking on a strangely child-like expression of excitement. "This document you found this morning, the one with the contributions... Worthington Industries dumped ten percent of our holdings into this genetic research company just then, and the project that sold it to us was called _X-F_, for a code name."

Sighing, Jean leaned her chin on her hand, elbow on the table, and watched Warren's pale blue eyes flashing in the light of his monitor. "What does this prove, again? I'm not following."

"The mutant gene is the X-Factor," he looked over at her now, and held the paper out to her. "Pull up the file on ExGen in the electronic portfolio that was given to the investors– the one with the projections that you had to call the Institute for help cracking into."

She accepted the paper from him, and typed in the appropriate passwords that Kitty and she had managed to produce, after hours of phone and internet collaboration. Hours that she'd initially thought had been wasted. The project was genetic research, yes, but there was no indication that it was at all related to mutation in any way. In fact, it seemed to be part of some sort of stem-cell research, hence it's location in certain Eastern European countries where the issue of such research was not such a hot topic, and it went on unheeded, for the most part. 

Shaking all thoughts of Scott, Warren, school, and drama in general out of her head, she watched the files open up one after another. She'd seen it all a hundred times, and she still didn't–

Wait.

"Project _X-F _you said?"

"That's it," her partner affirmed.

Jean's eyes scanned the file in front of her now, and the names of the involved parties caught her eyes. "For some reason, these names are ringing a bell," she muttered.

"Drs. Hesse, Gentile, Essex, Movago...," Warren read aloud, and then emitted a short laugh. 

She looked up at him sharply, mildly annoyed.

He tapped his expensive looking wristwatch, by way of explanation. "Movago."

She fought not to roll her eyes at him. And not to pass immediate judgment on his rich boy habits, even if he kept them in check fairly often. This was serious, and he was impressed that one of the geneticists on the project had the name of an overpriced watch?

Men. Honestly. He was lucky he was so cute, really, or that kind of thing would _really _irritate her. 

Not just cute, she reminded herself, suddenly softening toward him just a bit. Also very sweet, helpful, thoughtful. A really nice guy, in fact. Wasn't his fault he was worth more than the entire Institute, after all.

"No, that's not what it is," she managed to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "I think it's Essex..."

"Dr. Nathaniel Essex began this research in 1955," Warren read aloud from his screen, looking at the exact sentence she was reading over and over. "1955...? Mutants weren't even known to the public at that time...,"

"No," Jean agreed, "But they existed. And it's not unthinkable that _someone _knew about it."

Warren sighed quietly, and covered his face with his hands, "I thought this was it... it can't be, that's just too long ago..."

But Jean wasn't convinced that he was on the wrong track. In fact, the more she looked at it, the more she was somehow certain she knew the name Essex from _somewhere_. Something recent, but still... "This project was instated at ExGen within our time frame, ExGen is at the top of our list of suspect companies, the research listed in the project portfolio is not necessarily of the acceptable variety, for the average investor, and something about this name... I think we should at least tell the Professor."

Fitfully, Warren ruffled his wings. Jean looked over, and caught them glowing slightly in the dying light. If the light was just right, his feathers appeared perfectly iridescent. Like something out of a fairy tale, or a stained glass window.

But his voice was much darker, and had the sound of defeat in it, as he muttered, "Yes, alright, we'll tell Professor Xavier, if you think so."

* * *

A scream cut through the silence, and Wanda Maximoff shot up in bed.

Sweating, heart racing, blood pounding in her head. 

She was frozen. Couldn't move. 

If she moved, something _very _bad would happen. She wasn't sure what, but she was sure it was bad. 

The only sound was her own breath, coming hard and ragged through her nose. Her eyes darted around fearfully, looking into every corner in her dark, totally empty room. 

Something was there.

No.

Something _had been _there, at one point. Or... somewhere. Wherever she'd been. Somewhere in a huge castle, or a fortress, high on some mountain. Lightning had struck. 

And that... cow-person... cow-_woman_... had saved her. Saved them. Pietro was there too...

Almost as suddenly as it had come, the muscle-lock left her, and she collapsed bonelessly back into her pillow. But she was still breathing hard. And she was still terrified.

Three nights in a row, now. 

She remembered, of course, being _very _young, when she and Pietro had lived with the gypsies in Transia. But only small bits and pieces. Fractured remnants of memory– she wasn't sure if those things were real, or if she'd made them up. She remembered their father coming for them, of course, and everything after that, growing up in America, living with Magneto before he became Magneto, picnics and birthdays and holidays... but there had been something about dreams, before then. She and Pietro used to talk about the animal-people. 

And they were fucking with her head again. 

Sam had been worried, today, when she met him for a movie. Said that she looked worried. She'd told him to shut up and watch the movie, and he'd only smiled and shook his head at her. 

He was apparently the only man in the world who didn't want to run for cover when she got angry. In fact, he tended to stand there and grin at her like an idiot when it happened. And she really found it difficult to stay angry with that ridiculous hick grinning at her all lopsided like that. 

But she couldn't really bring herself to tell him that she'd been having nightmares. Nightmares involving half-men, half-animals. 

That just sounded way too fucked up.

Not that her getting angry at Pietro last time Sam was in the house hadn't ended up a little fucked up. Half the furniture had ended up going through the window and hanging out on the lawn for a day or two. But Wanda was of the opinion that such displays should really be enough to let Sam Guthrie know just what he was getting into, if he was going to hang around her for any extended period of time. She didn't need to pour her soul out to him, after all. 

She had so little soul left, she figured she'd better keep it for herself. In case she ended up needing it some day, for whatever reason. 

But at the moment, she almost wished that _someone _was there with her. Someone who could explain things to her. Because these dreams wouldn't let her sleep, after she'd had them. And she was getting pretty damn sick of this no sleep thing.

It put her in a bad mood. 

  



	3. Makeups and Money

Chapter Two: Make-ups and Money

Kurt Wagner was running. 

Well, running might have been a bit of a stretch. Really, it was more... galloping? _Nein_, that wasn't right either. Propelling himself forward at an accelerated rate through the use of all four extremities? No, that sounded like something Dr. McCoy would say. 

Anyhow, he was moving really fast, straight for a gigantic pile of leaves that Ray and Bobby had just created in the middle of the expansive backyard of the Xavier Institute. He took a flying leap, let out a whoop of pure joy, and landed in the pile hard, sending a spray of orange, brown, and yellow up in the air as he sunk in. 

"Kurt!" Bobby squeaked. "We _just _finished that!" 

Kurt pulled the leaves off of his face where they were sticking to his fur, and stuck his tongue out at the younger mutant playfully. "No, _I _just finished it!"

Bobby growled at him, and launched himself head first into the pile of leaves, catching Kurt by the shoulders and taking him down with him by sheer force of inertia. 

Kurt was laughing maniacally by that time and rolled backward expertly, bringing up his long, two-toed feet to catch Iceman's midsection, sending him flying over Kurt's head into the next pile of leaves over.

"Aw, dammit Bobby, now look what you did!" Ray laughed, as he took a swan dive on top of his former partner in yard work. The two began a loud, expletive-laden leaf fight almost immediately, wrestling for a few moments as Ray stuffed mass quantities of the brittle dead leaves down Bobby's jacket front, and Bobby howled for vengeance, shaking his fist at Kurt.

Kurt simply leaned back in his own bed of leaves and pillowed his head on his hands, preparing to watch the show. It was a beautiful day– and Kurt had always enjoyed fall the most of all the seasons. At home, of course, that had a lot to do with _Oktoberfest_. But here it was almost as nice, and all the nicer for the company he was in these days. Sure, the whole experience here wasn't peaches and cream... but it was nice to be... accepted. 

His parents had always accepted him, of course. And in the circus, he was accepted... but there he was a novelty. Here, they loved him for him. They might get annoyed by his jokes, by his–

Kurt looked up, his entire train of thought crashing in a fiery explosion as the warm sun coming down on him was suddenly blocked out. His face turned upward just in time to see a thick rain of leaves falling straight on his head. He considered teleporting out of the way, instinctively, but by the time the thought was clear, he was unceremoniously covered in a blanket of new, slightly damp autumn from somewhere above.

And the laugh that followed, sweet and familiar, made it all too clear who the culprit was. 

"Ach! This is war, Jeanne-Marie!" Kurt shook his head, causing leaves to fly in every direction, and grinned at the raven-haired girl standing before him in a warm-up suit, smiling innocently. 

"Is that a promise?" she laughed.

He stood up to lunge at her, with an armful of leaves tucked close to him, but was immediately knocked back into the pile by a flying Berserker, who was letting out an ear-shattering war-whoop that sounded amazingly like "Yiyiyiyiyiyi!"

He went down with a thud and a round of hysterics as he tried to impale his leaves on the orange spikes of Ray's hair, and crush them into the rest of it, and the two grappled for a few moments, laughing and pushing and ending up with mouthfuls of maple and oak leaves. As far as Kurt could tell, Jeanne-Marie and Bobby were engaged in a similar activity, for no apparent reason. But in the end, the four mutants were left in one large pile of well-shredded leaves, that was spread out over a great deal more of the yard than it had been initially, panting and laughing and pink-faced (or, in Kurt's case, a nice healthy purple under his fur, if anyone could've seen it.) 

"Dammit, Kurt," Ray laughed and threw one last half-hearted handful of leaves in his direction, only two of which actually reached him, and which fell harmlessly onto his stomach, "now we gotta do this all over again!"

"Never fear, _meine Freunde,_ I will help you this time! We'll be done before you know it!"

"JM," Bobby whined, pushing himself up to standing somewhat laboriously, "I think you got some leaves down my throat..."

Jeanne-Marie gave him a well-placed kick in the rear as he stuck his backside up in the air trying to stand straight, and he went face-first into the leaves again, laughing helplessly. 

But soon enough they had the yard back in order, and began picking leaves out of one another's hair and clothing, grinning hugely.

Kurt felt that his work was done here. Yard work was so much more entertaining when a good leaf-fight was involved. 

He looked up, hearing someone crunching out of the woods nearby with his sensitive ears, and caught sight of Jean-Paul near the tree line, moving in the direction of the house. Not toward them, but toward the far end of the house. The long way.

Kurt sighed. Now that was one guy he wasn't going to risk a leaf-battle with. Not this week. Jean-Paul had been the proverbial little black rain cloud around the house since Jeanne-Marie had stopped talking to him. He was impossible in the Danger Room, since he couldn't seem to bring himself to acknowledge his sister's presence and the two normally worked seamlessly as a team, and he his infamous short fuse had gotten that much shorter over everything. The only people he was civil to anymore were Rogue and Pietro. 

Rogue he could understand. Pietro... well, that was another story. Maximoff was barely civil to anyone, so Kurt really couldn't see how he deserved preferential treatment, no matter what the two of them did behind closed doors. But hell, to each his own.

Jean-Paul looked over at them, after he'd come a little closer, and Kurt waved cheerfully in his direction. But the Canadian X-Man simply looked away, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his expensively beat-up jean jacket, and kept walking toward the mansion. 

Again, Kurt sighed. "Jeanne-Marie, I think you should talk to your brother."

She came up beside him, and he knew her gaze followed his, to where JP was. She didn't say anything, just looked at him.

"Is it really necessary to do this? If you have some problem, why don't you talk to him? You two can work anything out, you're family!" He tried to sound encouraging. The thing about the Beaubiers was, however, that they had only known family for a few months. Before then, they'd both existed in their own, lonely worlds. Jeanne-Marie in her frighteningly sterile orphanage, Jean-Paul in the streets and then in front of the camera, almost without a transition between the two. 

Sure, Kurt's "family" had issues. Serious issues. But with those two around, he almost felt like he could _deal _with his problems. At least he and Rogue didn't fight like cats and dogs...

"I'll go to him," she said, finally, sounding reluctant. 

He looked over at her, to see her eyes closed, her eyebrows drawn down, and her lips pressed thin. Her normally composed, delicate face suddenly the picture of worry. And he put a hand on her shoulder, to shore her up. She could handle Jean-Paul like no one else, but she was still unhappy with him for his reaction to her and Roberto. She'd told him as much only a few days ago. And really, he couldn't blame her. 

But she was miserable too, being apart from her brother, when she couldn't find a way to amuse herself. And he didn't like seeing that. It was unnatural for her, in his mind. Jeanne-Marie should be smiling. She just looked natural when she was smiling. 

"Don't worry, JM. He loves you. In a few minutes you'll both be laughing like nothing ever happened."

She opened her eyes and looked over at him, obviously forcing a smile, and nodded. "You're right, Kurt. _Merci_."

He nodded in return, and watched her go for a minute, walking straight-backed and tall toward her brother. Jean-Paul stopped, already halfway to the house, and looked up at her, as if he knew she was coming.

Of course, he probably did. They had that psi thing... right. 

But Kurt's train of thought was once again de-railed as he was suddenly assaulted by a flying pile of leaves. "That's it, Vahg-ner!" Bobby giggled as he tackled the fuzzy elf, "Time for retribution!"

* * *

"Were you going to try and speak to me, or just wait forever until I finally came to you?" 

Jean-Paul simply stared at her, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders somewhat hunched. It was an unfamiliar posture for him. He usually stood so tall, looked so defiant all the time. It bothered her, somehow. Made her sad, to see him like that. But after a moment, he finally responded, voice low and with an unavoidable sharp edge to it. "I _did _try. You've been avoiding me for two weeks, Jeanne-Marie. I hardly think it's my duty to appeal to you daily until you change your mind. Particularly when you're so obviously not bothered by our estrangement."

She sighed at her brother, and shook her head. "You know it bothers me."

"I don't know anything about you, _ma soeur_," Jean-Paul narrowed his eyes menacingly. "Not only have we not spoken in quite a long time, but you also shield yourself from me lately. What would I know of you?"

That made her wince. She _had _purposely been blocking him out, psychically, lately. The constant reminder of his every day activities, of his perpetual frustration and anger with her, of how it hurt him to be ignored by her, only made things harder for her. And she could not take care of both of them. Not the way things were at the moment. 

She had to take care of herself, _or_ him. If he were willing to take care of her in return, as he had so often promised to do, she would be able to handle him. But he had more than proven that her feelings about her recent break up meant nothing to him, and had immediately started shamelessly radiating an almost childish glee when he'd spoken to her immediately following. 

And yes, it had hurt. But she took care of herself by herself. Without him. 

But oh, she'd wished that he could have just been... nice, for once. Because she really could've used his shoulder to cry on. "You hurt me, Jean-Paul."

He blinked at her once, then took a step closer, suddenly standing a little taller, eyes no longer narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

She swallowed, then cleared her throat, not certain why a lump had formed there. "I was very upset about Roberto. I knew what I had to do, and I did it, but it upset me so much... and all you could say was good riddance." And suddenly, she felt a flash of anger, remembering the moment that he'd turned on her, smiled, and said that she was better off without that _narcissistic prick_. "You're starting to treat me like Pietro treats Wanda, like I'm nothing but trouble to you."

His dark brows drew down low, and he shook his head, obviously annoyed by a stray wisp of silver hair from the white locks in the middle of his black hair, that would not blow away from his eyes. But he still would not withdraw his hands from his pockets to move it. "Don't be ridiculous, Jeanne-Marie. I don't think that and you know it. I'm not the one who refused to speak for two weeks–,"

Oh no, she was not going to let him turn this around. "_I'm _not the one who started a fight! I was upset! I felt...," but just as suddenly as she'd gotten angry, she now felt as if the air had been let out of her fury, and grew sad immediately, thinking of it, and her eyes dropped to the ground. She'd had to do it, of course. But that didn't mean it hadn't hurt. "I felt horrible. You didn't see him, brother, he was so sad. And because of _me_. And all you could say was–,"

"I know what I said," he cut in, but softly. 

She looked back up at him, and saw that he was biting his lip. Thoughtfully. 

"I did ask if you were alright first."

She sighed and shook her head at her stubborn ass of a brother. As much as she loved him... sometimes she'd really like to kick him. "And then you started gloating immediately."

Jean-Paul's icy eyes narrowed once again, "Jeanne-Marie, he–,"

"Stop," she held up one hand now, unwilling to listen to his usual laundry list of complaints against her once upon a time boyfriend. Yes, Roberto had his faults. But so did she. And it was not Jean-Paul's place to remind her of them, anyhow. He was supposed to _love _her, not treat her like an idiot child. "This is why I didn't want to talk to you, Jean-Paul. Every time, you start this again. I swear, the more you're with Pietro–,"

"Yes, sister," his voice was suddenly as cold as his eyes, and he seemed to somehow shrink within himself at the second mention of Pietro Maximoff. "You've made your disapproval of my choice in bed-mates perfectly clear, thank you. Must you blame him for everything?"

How could he not see the _irony _in his own words? God, but he was infuriating! "Must you always blame Roberto?"

"Yes!" He said, finally removing his hands from his pockets and gesturing emphatically with both of them at once. "It's not the same–,"

"No, Jean-Paul, it's not." She made her voice just as cold as his now, and leveled a glare just as powerful as his back at him. And knew that her meaning would be clear, even with their empathic link totally closed off, as it had been all week. "You're absolutely right. It's _not _the same."

_Because what I was doing with Roberto was a trial. A test of our friendship and devotion, to see if it could become more. You and Pietro are in this for the long run, whether you admit to it or not, and he will break your heart. And I will have to watch. _

Of course, she didn't say any of it. No matter what an ass he was being, she couldn't bring herself to put Pietro down like that, knowing how her brother felt. Because she did know, she thought, even if he didn't know himself. And it scared her, because she did _not_ trust Pietro Maximoff. Not one little bit. 

He took a deep breath, and met her gaze fearlessly, "And _what _is that supposed to mean?"

She closed her eyes, and sighed once more. She didn't want to fight with him. She just wanted... things to be better. Like they were before. "You know what I mean, brother."

When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her, with the strange, calculating curiosity of a cat. But when he finally spoke, his voice registered a mix of disbelief, and something like pain. As close as Jean-Paul could get, anyhow. "You don't care at all, do you? You really don't mind being apart from me."

Those words were like an electric shock to her, painful and unexpected. Jeanne-Marie felt something hot in her eyes, something closing in around her stomach. And could see nothing else to do, but to open herself up to him, and throw herself into his arms.

He caught her, stiffly at first, but eventually relaxed into a hug, putting his arms around her shoulders and smoothing her hair down her back. Silently. 

But she could feel him now, and it felt so much...

Better. 

And yes, he was hurt. He wasn't even bothering to hide it from her, in fact. He was just... hurt. And Jean-Paul did not let himself be hurt. Jean-Paul got angry. But this time, she'd done it.

"How can you say those things to me?" She asked, into his shoulder, "If I didn't care... I wouldn't...," 

But her words nearly choked her, and she just kept silent, after that. He understood now, and she knew it. At least, he understood that she cared, that it had, indeed, bothered the living hell out of her, this past week.

"Perhaps we should–," he began.

"Let it go?" She finished for him. "I agree."

They pulled apart now, and he took her by the hand, and looked into her eyes. She blinked hard, to keep the salt water out of them, and saw him clenching his jaw– his obvious reaction to any emotion he did not wish to deal with. "I'd like my sister back, Jeanne-Marie."

"It was lonely without you," she confessed now. The dam had broken, after all. "But I was afraid of what you'd say... I just knew it would be terrible and then I would have to deal with it all over again..."

"I will... try harder," he offered, squeezing her hand.

And for Jean-Paul, that was as close to _I'm sorry_ as it got. But she already knew that he was sorry. He still meant what he'd said, of course, and he was still happy that she was no longer involved with Berto. But he was sorry that he had hurt her. And that was all she needed, really. "I shouldn't have said that," she told him. "About Pietro, I mean."

He shook his head and dropped her hand now, waving it off, "Forget it, just let it go. The whole thing is too complicated to sort out right now."

She nodded, and smiled at him softly. Just a small one. "Everything feels that way, lately." 

He appeared to be about to speak, but they heard car doors slam, and both looked to the driveway automatically. Jean was there, along with a tall, good looking blonde man, who was taking off his coat...

To reveal the most beautiful pair of pure white wings Jeanne-Marie had ever seen. And they were... _real_.

She only stared for a moment, totally fascinated by the beauty of what she was seeing, and felt the same from Jean-Paul as well. When she looked over at him, his eyebrows were raised, and he was making that "not bad," face he often made when he thought someone was looking good. 

It made her smile, genuinely. _That _was the Jean-Paul she knew and loved. 

"That must be Angel," she said, taking him by the arm, "M_on dieu_, brother, can you believe those beautiful wings?"

"Impressive," he shrugged. He was back to being cool, calm Jean-Paul after his first look, of course.

She shot him a grin, and then turned to wave to Jean, who waved back, rather happily. "Oh, come on, let's go meet him!"

Her brother rolled his eyes, but she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the drive to meet with the pair waiting for them to catch up there. 

Upon closer examination, it turned out that the iridescent white feathers of his wings were not the only beautiful attributes that Warren Worthington (she knew that was his name, Jean had told her about him last week when she visited) possessed. Golden hair, a well-cut, not quite square jaw line, bright blue eyes that scrunched up adorably when he smiled, as he was right then, and... well, not that she could tell much at the moment, but judging from the way that shirt hung off of him–

"Um, Warren Worthington, Angel," Jean's voice interrupted her train of thought, and she realized that she'd just been standing there smiling at the newcomer like an idiot. "Meet Jeanne-Marie and Jean-Paul Beaubier, Aurora and Northstar."

She let go of her brother, noticing the slight scowl on his face, and felt a twitch of irritation from him, but ignored it almost entirely. Smiling brightly, she reached out her hand to Angel, and said, "Lovely to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

Warren, who was smiling faintly down at her, suddenly blinked and reached out to take the hand she'd offered. 

Lovely hands. Very soft, but not weak. Gentle, though. That's what it was. He seemed very gentle. 

His voice, when he spoke, backed up that idea. It was low and quiet, but very sweet. He must not be much older than she, even though at first glance he seemed a few years older. It was the way he carried himself, she decided. Or the strange air of... otherworldliness... or something… that the wings lent him. "Um, yes, so have I. About you, that is. Not about me." 

She smiled and gave a small laugh. Cute. Of course, it would be irritating if he was always so scatterbrained, but it made for a rather adorable first impression. Jean was right, he was something to look at, most definitely. She made a mental note to commend her friend on her eye, once she got her alone. Very boy next door all-American. If you got rid of the wings, of course. Which just made him... amazing. 

But Angel suddenly let go of her hand, and turned to Jean-Paul, who was standing with his eyebrow raised, still mildly irritated, but far from being out and out angry. "And your brother, of course. Nice to meet you Northstar," he held out his hand to Jean-Paul and offered him a rather brave smile.

A bit sourly, Jean-Paul smiled back. "The pleasure is mine, _mon ami_."

Jean, Jeanne-Marie noticed now, was shifting impatiently at Warren's side. "Well, we have business inside..."

Warren blinked again, and let go of Jean-Paul's hand, catching her eyes again with those lovely baby blues he had. "Yes, I need to speak to Xavier, he said he'd be in."

"Oh, I just left him in the library," she informed them. She'd been upstairs reading with him, before she'd seen the beginnings of Kurt's leaf battle and decided to join in for the sake of fresh air and a good laugh. Anything involving those boys was bound to be a good laugh, after all. "I'll take you to him."

With that, she slid her arm through Warren's and started to lead their little party inside. The blonde man looked over at her, and offered up a perfectly straight smile, and laid his hand over hers, where it rested on her arm. 

She smiled back, and decided she'd like to know just what it was about Warren Worthington that was so interesting. Because already, she was definitely interested in what he was thinking. Mainly because no man that good looking, in her experience, had ever seemed so uncertain of himself. Good looking boys _knew _they were good looking, and _acted _like they were good looking.

She wondered if it was because he didn't know, or if it was just some kind of game he played. Either way, the best way to find out would probably be to ask. 

"I knew that they called you Angel," she started, as he opened the front door for her, "But I had no idea that your wings were actually so... angelic. They're lovely, you must show me how you fly with them. I do love to fly."

That made his smile light up even further. Oh yes. Very all-American. Look at those pearly whites. "You fly on your own as well, right?"

She nodded, leading him through the foyer, to the upstairs library. "Yes, both my brother and I can fly."

"And... Scott mentioned speed?"

Pleased that he'd done his homework on the X-Men, even the ones he didn't know, she nodded once more. "Well, Jean-Paul is faster than me," she gestured to her brother, who was now beside her on the stairs, hands stuffed back into his pockets. 

He winked at her, and offered a small half-smile, but she could still feel some sort of vague annoyance biting at him. She realized, of course, that it had to do with her "flirting" with Angel, as he'd call it. He was suppressing the irritation, she assumed, because he truly had missed her, and the thought of losing her again was still a little too difficult for him.

Perhaps he'd learned something after all. So, for his sake, she would behave. For a little while, anyhow. 

"But we both have it, yes. Tell me, Angel–,"

"Warren. Please. My name is Warren." 

* * *

Jean-Paul fought the urge to scream in frustration as he strode purposefully down the upstairs corridor, after depositing his sister, Jean, and the pretty bird-man with the Professor in the library.

_Here she goes again_, was pretty much all he could think.

But he held it back, and tried to stay cool. They'd just fought, and badly, after all. No need to jump to conclusions. Jeanne-Marie flirted with everyone, every man, anyhow, within a hundred mile radius. 

But no. She was his sister and he loved her. And Warren Worthington, though obviously a spoiled little rich boy (God, those shoes! Where the _hell _had the guy managed to get a hold of those shoes, anyhow!?), he was, so Jean-Paul had heard, a decent sort. Which would be a step up from DaCosta. Who was not, in his opinion, decent. Not that he was horrible... but not good enough for Jeanne-Marie.

Not that Worthington would prove to be. But...

Right. She was only flirting. 

Still... it was irritating. He was irritated enough, at the moment, with Pietro obviously turning into a basket case over something involving a fucked up sleeping pattern. And he was emotional right now, which was always dangerous. He'd thought he was going to cry there for a moment, with Jeanne-Marie, and that _never _happened...

Well, couldn't hurt to check Angel out. If anyone would know about this Worthington pretty-boy, it would be Scott. Who, come to think of it, had pretty much been avoiding him all week. Not that it was anything, necessarily, just that it was odd that when Jean-Paul came into the room, the Fearless Leader usually seemed to have some other place to be. Small things like that. He'd been meaning to ask him about it, really, but just hadn't gotten the chance. Probably nothing, but Scott was a strange creature, so it was hard to say. He'd just have to track Summers down and–

Jean-Paul came around the corner, a little too fast, and almost ran headlong into a Summers. Only, it wasn't the one he'd been after. 

Alex stopped dead in his tracks to avoid a collision, and grinned at him, "Whoa there JP, what's up?"

"Nothing," he said, distractedly. He did like Alex quite a bit, the kid was clever, and had a strange sort of beach bum charm that Jean-Paul was utterly unfamiliar with, and therefore disarmed by. But at the moment, he was on a mission. "By the way, is your brother avoiding me? I need to ask him about this Angel fellow."

Alex simply raised his eyebrows once and gave a rueful, crooked smile. "You too, huh?"

Jean-Paul looked the younger boy in the eyes, lovely big brown eyes, in fact, and suddenly noticed that the usually jovial surfer-dude wasn't looking so very jovial, right then. Actually, it reminded Jean-Paul of the night Alex had first come to talk to him, for advice on...

Oh. Right. "You told him, did you?"

The blonde boy shrugged, and leaned against the wall casually, "Been two weeks ago, now. We haven't really had much conversation since." 

Funny, how he could feel both surprise and instant acceptance, hearing that. Scott was his friend, and had never shown any indication of homophobia, or even slightly un-politically correct leanings on the subject of homosexuals. Sure, he was uptight, and when Jean-Paul flirted with him (jokingly, of course, God forbid...), he got a little flustered. But he _always _laughed it off, and half the time he gave it back. 

Yet... he _was _uptight. And his world view was astoundingly rigid. And something like this was just the sort of thing that Scott would fuck up, thanks to his goddamn Fearless Leader tunnel vision.

Which honestly pissed Jean-Paul off a bit. Because whatever had happened, Alex was now a little scared. And Jean-Paul, in the one philanthropic effort he'd ever been a part of in his life, had worked very hard to make certain that Alex Summers felt good about himself. "What did he say to you?"

Again, the younger boy shrugged, and avoided his eyes entirely. "He was cool, JP. Don't get mad."

"Too late," Jean-Paul informed him, "I'm already in a bit of a mood. Tell me what he said."

"Nothing man, he was just a little weirded out."

Jean-Paul laughed, realizing that it sounded quite bitter. But yes, leave it to Shades to fuck this up. Oh, wasn't that just fucking perfect. _Just _like that tight ass... "And he hasn't talked to you in two weeks?"

"No, man, it's not like that. It wasn't bad. I just, I mean, we haven't _really _talked...," but his explanation was failing, and Alex finally looked back up at the older boy, this time through a shield of golden blonde bangs. "Look, forget it, ok? He's having a rough time with Jean–,"

"Fuck that," Jean-Paul scoffed. "Where is he?"

"Dude," Alex shook his head, now looking mildly concerned. "Seriously. It's cool."

"It's not," he insisted, clapping Alex on the shoulder once, now more resolved than ever to have a little chat with his friend Scott Summers. "Never mind, I'll find him myself. Don't worry, I won't hurt him. I have some things to talk to him about anyhow."

* * *

Scott Summers nearly jumped out of his skin when his door burst open and banged against the wall. He turned, quickly, in his chair, to see one _very _irritated looking Jean-Paul Beaubier staring at him from his doorway, arms crossed over his chest, fire in his light eyes. 

And he immediately knew that he'd been, as the New Mutants so often said, busted.

"Don't you knock?" he groused, hoping that Jean-Paul couldn't hear his heartbeat. He could've sworn that between the scare of his door flying open and the knowledge that he was in some kind of trouble, it was about to thud right through his chest.

Normally, JP didn't intimidate him at all. Not only were they friends, but Scott simply didn't have it in him to be easily intimidated– which was how Jean-Paul held up his reign of terror over some of the younger kids, totally without meaning to.

But this time, Scott knew he was wrong. And he didn't much care for the role-reversal, really.

"I checked," the Canadian boy shot him a cocky glare, then closed the door behind him and came to sit on a nearby chair. "This is posted office hours. So if you're in here jerking off to internet porn, you really picked a bad time."

Scott just raised an eyebrow, still trying to remain calm, and pretend he didn't know why Jean-Paul was here. He'd been expecting this all week, since he'd been avoiding his friend, after all. It was only a matter of time before he talked to Alex and/or noticed the avoidance... Scott was surprised it had taken this long, really. 

Surprised, but he still wished it could've taken a little longer. But he just _couldn't _make himself go talk things out with Alex yet...

He just felt so... stupid.

"You're in a mood," was all he said, deciding to stick with the obvious. JP was _not _pleased, that much was clear. He could play dumb for awhile and try to figure out what to say to this madman in front of him. Jean-Paul was perfectly capable of hauling off and decking him, if he didn't like what Scott had to say, so he'd have to be careful if he wanted to avoid a big fight.

Why were they friends again...?

"What did you say to Alex?"

Well. _At least he doesn't waste any time._

Scott opened his mouth to reply... but found that no words were ready to come out. He just looked at the sour-faced boy in front of him, blankly. 

And felt like a real idiot. 

Jesus, he hadn't meant to take it out on JP. But by avoiding him for so long, he technically had. And he just didn't know what he could say to Alex that would make it better instead of worse and he was so afraid to fuck things up worse than he already had. He thought he ought to just stay quiet and let things get better on their own and Jean barely even talked to him anymore–

"Don't fuck around, Summers," Jean-Paul warned him, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his thighs, but never taking his eyes from Scott's. Even though he couldn't see that shocking blue everyone talked about, he still couldn't deny that when the guy wanted to hold your attention with his eyes, he couldn't possibly fail. He was just... intense. "He's been a wreck all week, and you're avoiding me. I didn't talk to him until just now–,"

An uncharacteristic flash of anger ran through him, and he found himself snorting, "Well, there's a first."

Jean-Paul's dark eyebrows drew together, "Is that a bit of thinly-veiled jealousy and bitterness I'm sensing there?"

Alright. He felt bad about the things he'd said, the things he _hadn't _said. But seriously, what the hell did the guy expect? Alex was _his _brother, and he'd gone to Jean-Paul first! Sure, Scott had been angsting but... dammit, Alex was _his brother_. And now that he thought about it again, it really did upset him. He'd managed to avoid that, well almost, by avoiding JP... but him coming in here, upbraiding Scott for this... it was insulting, really. "It's none of your business what happens between me and my brother."

But JP only shrugged, unaffected. "It is if one of you makes it my business. I really expected better of you, Scott. Whatever happened, you've undone half the work I did. And I had no idea that you took issue with homosexuality at all–,"

"Christ, Jean-Paul," Scott just sighed now, and drug his hand through his hair in irritation. Impotent irritation. "You know I don't, come on, man."

"I'm not the one you need to tell. You're not _my _brother."

Scott blinked, for just a moment. He couldn't think of anything to say to that, at first, because it was actually... untrue. In a way. And really, it was stupid and childish of him to blame Jean-Paul for any of this... 

But knowing that didn't make it stop hurting. 

God, what was _wrong _with him lately?

"You sort of... are, though. It's just... I never think of it with you. It's no big deal. Alex just took me by surprise, you know?"

Jean-Paul leaned back now, and crossed his arms over his chest again, eyeing Scott appraisingly. "I don't know, because I've never had to tell any family of mine, or had anyone that had to tell me. I didn't grow up with a family. But if I really thought it was that shitty of you, and completely inexcusable, I wouldn't be talking to you at all. I would probably have just walked in and hit you."

"True," Scott conceded, feeling a wry smile creep onto his face now, in spite of himself.

"So why haven't you explained things to him, if you really don't care about him being gay?"

Ah. Now that was the thing that he was ashamed of... "Because... I feel like a dick. I'm...,"

"Embarrassed about your reaction," Jean-Paul finished, nodding, the usual sarcastic sneer back in position on his lips. But he didn't look angry any more. Not at all. "Understandable. And anyhow, you _are _a dick. Of course, so am I..."

"JM talking to you yet?" Scott asked, cocking his head. Really, the Beaubiers almost made him feel like he was the world's greatest brother sometimes. Between JM's fits and JP's overbearing nature, they were about as dysfunctional as possible, for only knowing each other for six months. 

"As of a half hour ago, and just barely," he answered, with an expression of clear discomfort. He'd been a mess all week too, and if Scott hadn't been so busy avoiding him, he normally would've talked to him about it... 

Damn. He was just all kinds of inadequate lately, really.

"You need to tell Alex that you're a dick, Scott," JP cut into his thoughts again. "I'd do it myself, but I think it'd mean more coming from you." 

Scott looked at the floor, "He'd probably appreciate it more from you, at this point."

"...more bitterness?"

He looked back up, and gave a small, defeated laugh. Because, yeah, he was still a little bitter about Alex talking to JP so much, and first. Not that he could blame the kid... "I was never very good with subtlety."

"That's why your passive-aggressive behavior is less effective, Scott," Jean-Paul informed him, now grinning, "It's irritating for its clumsiness, rather than for the actual pain it inflicts."

Scott shook his head, and flipped Jean-Paul off. Only half-joking, really. 

"There you go, see, coming right out with it just feels better."

Scott sighed, still shaking his head. "You can't blame me. He _did _come to you first. It sucks. You know what I mean."

JP nodded, "Yes, I know how I would feel. But you were angsting. And have been for the past month. Is Jean's perpetual PMS finally getting old?" 

Against his will, Scott actually smiled. "Don't make me kick your ass."

Jean-Paul laughed, and it was a rather pleasant sound, utterly devoid of sarcasm. Threats and abuse often disarmed the younger boy, for some reason, as Scott had discovered long ago. Useful when trying to get him to talk. "I'd be doing you a favor if I gave you a fight, Summers. You need either a good fight, or a good lay. And knowing Jean–,"

"Shut up," Scott held up his hand, trying to stop the onslaught of JP patented inappropriateness he could feel coming on.

"Don't be angry about Alex," Jean-Paul performed one of his sudden topic and/or personality shifts, and went back to it, "He was scared. I'm gay, therefore the least threatening man in the house, which is a first, I'll admit, but still understandable. He knew I wouldn't judge him. And honestly... it's a good thing he came to me first."

Again, Scott looked down. If Alex _had _come to him first... Jesus. The kid would probably be on a plane back to Hawaii by now. "You're right."

"Of course I am, _mon ami_."

Laughing now, he looked his friend in the eye again, and shook his head. Typical. If it were anyone else being so impossibly arrogant, he'd hate them for it. But, for some reason, he couldn't hate Jean-Paul Beaubier. 

Maybe that was why they were friends, really. As stubborn and as many flaws as they both had, they never really hated each other for them. In fact... he got a kick out of JP's arrogance just like JP seemed to enjoy his... what did they call it? Boy-scout-ish-ness? 

"Ok, ok, I'll talk to him," he sighed, now completely back to feeling stupid for his initial reaction to Alex... not to mention the way he'd been treating Jean-Paul. "God, I'm an ass. Listen, Jean-Paul, I'm really sorry."

The dark-haired boy cocked an eyebrow at him, in that super-cool way he had, and asked, "For avoiding me all week, for avoiding Alex, or for being passive-aggressive?"

Scott smiled, and wondered just how sheepish it made him look. He sure as hell felt it, at the moment. "All three."

"Forget it," was the immediate response. But after just a moment, Jean-Paul suddenly shook his head, and started again, "Just... Scott, you're a _mutant_. You know what it's like to be...," but he trailed off, as if he didn't want to finish, and looked away from Scott's eyes for the first time since he'd come in.

"Scared," he instinctively knew what it was that JP wouldn't want to admit to understanding. He could appreciate that. "Yeah. I know."

"Alex has twice as much to fear. Not really, of course, but in his head, he does."

Scott furrowed his brow and examined his friend closely. He actually sounded... sympathetic. Low-voiced for just a moment, face softening from its usual sarcastic bastard grin into something much kinder. 

Wow. Weird. Who knew he had it in him? Alex really _had _made a good choice, perhaps, going to Jean-Paul. "You're a real asshole, JP," he shook his head in disbelief. "But you know, when you're good, you're the best."

His expression changed immediately, and he raised both eyebrows, suggestively, and began to smirk, "So I've been told."

Scott put a hand to his forehead, and laughed just a little. "Moving on..." Jesus. That guy. 

"Right," Jean-Paul crossed one leg over the other at the knee, and leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair, slouching down to support his head with his hand. It was a position that Scott never could've pulled off, and he knew it. Something that would've made him look either hopelessly rigid and ridiculous, or pathetically effeminate. Which, of course, was the main thing he envied about his friend Jean-Paul– how at ease he was in his own skin. JP could do or say almost anything, and still manage to look his usual intimidating, in control self, because he performed every action as if he had the blessing and directive of God Almighty behind him. "Angel. What's his story?"

Seeing his opening for some retribution, now that Jean-Paul had made him laugh and relaxed him just a little, he started, "I thought you and Pietro–,"

"Fuck you, Summers," He laughed, pointing at him dangerously, but still maintaining his relaxed posture. "It's not for me. Jeanne-Marie is all over him."

Scott bit back his immediate reaction, which was entirely unfair, and something along the lines of _imagine that_. Not that he didn't love JM, she was great as a friend and a teammate. But the girl was boy-crazy, and no one could deny that. "When did they meet?"

"Just now, he's in the library with the Professor and Jean."

"Jean's here?" That was weird. He knew they hadn't been talking as much, but she usually told him when she was coming... or at least stopped up when she got in... 

Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow again. "Just a few minutes ago, they turned up."

"Oh," he tried to pretend not to find it odd, but since it was too late anyhow, just changed the subject back. It wasn't that he was irritated with her for not saying hello or telling him, really. It was just...

Damn. They really needed to have a talk.

"Er, he's a rich boy, lonely," he started in on his description of Warren, whom he happened to get along with rather well. He was glad that Angel had been spending more time with the X-Men, even if it was mostly only when he needed something– he'd helped them the one time they'd asked as well. And it was a huge help, against Apocalypse. This kind of family was just the sort of thing that could really bring out the best in a guy like him. Just needed to get over the freak complex... well, as much as any of them could, anyhow. "Really good guy. Rogue and I met him first, when he was playing superhero all alone. He has a good soul, you know? And any time we've hooked up with him he's been a great addition to the team–,"

"I don't really want to know about his usefulness to the X-Men, Scott, although I appreciate that you're trying to be thorough," his friend smiled a bit ruefully. "What about with girls? What do you know?"

"Nothing," he admitted. He knew Warren well enough day to day, but didn't know a huge amount about his personal life. Just what he'd gleaned from their couple of conversations, and what Jean had said after that weekend with him and the Professor. "Like I said, he just seems lonely. He's hidden his mutation from everyone, even his family, since it manifested, Jean said, so I doubt he's... you know... been around, or whatever."

JP spared a short laugh for his discomfort on the subject, but nodded anyhow. "I suppose that makes sense. He's just ridiculously gorgeous, so I assumed... but if you say so."

Scott raised an eyebrow again, "Ridiculously gorgeous, huh?"

"Even _you _can't be that blind," Jean-Paul rolled his eyes. "He looks like the poster boy for pretty Americans. And Christ, Scott, he has _wings_."

Actually... Warren _was _kind of poster-boy-ish. So he admitted defeat, and shrugged, "True."

But JP was standing now, obviously having gotten what he came for. "Alright, I feel a little better. The idea of her with yet another playboy wanna-be makes me want to scream. But just... one more thing," his expression turned thoughtful again, rather suddenly. "How does one hide wings large enough to support a man his size, anyhow?"

"Well, his bones are hollow–," Scott began to explain the physicality of the whole thing.

But Jean-Paul rolled his eyes at him and cut him off, "Are you _trying _to piss me off today?"

Right. Wrong question. But man, JP was in a bitchy mood today. "Jesus, sorry. Anyhow, he has this harness. It's pretty crazy, really, when he has it on you'd seriously never guess."

Jean-Paul's forehead became creased now, as if the idea troubled him greatly. "_Mon dieu_... doesn't it hurt him?"

Hell. Actually... Scott had never really thought about it before, because Warren had never actually said anything about it one way or another. But now that he mentioned it, it almost had to be uncomfortable... _really _damn uncomfortable. "Shit... I don't know. But it must. A lot."

Looking a little stunned, Jean-Paul just nodded. "_Oui_, I would think. Anyhow, thanks, and all that. If you need a good fight after Jean leaves this weekend and you still haven't gotten laid–,"

This succeeded in lightening the moods instantly, and Scott found himself laughing again. "Get the hell out of here. And don't give JM shit about Warren, if something happens."

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes once more, as if for good measure, and turned to go. "I'm sending Alex up."

Scott's heart leapt into his throat. "Dude–,"

"Night, Summers," JP was at the door now. "I'd better see that kid smiling tomorrow morning, or I _will _kick your ass. Jean or no Jean."

* * *

Lance Alvers was not looking forward to this.

Pietro had been in a shitty mood all damn week, and Wanda had been worse. But he didn't have any kind of choice in the matter, really. Freddy was too stupid to get things done, Todd was too irresponsible, Wanda was too nuts, and Pietro only wanted to be the leader when it meant getting everyone else to do what he wanted, not when it meant responsibilities.

Lance was, effectively, the leader again. And Jesus. He really didn't want bare cupboards again. And even if he was a bastard hood kid... he still wanted to finish school. 

So he knocked on Maximoff's door, and waited for the invitation to enter, which came almost immediately.

Pietro was digging through his closet, in search of something that had clearly proven too elusive– half the contents of it were now on the floor, or on his bed. "What do you want, Lance?"

Lance shook his head in disgust. They were almost out of money and here was Pietro with the wardrobe of a goddamn Austrian princess. Typical. "Pietro, have you looked at the account book lately?" He waved the little green book from the bank, where they tried to keep track of the money Magneto had left them with almost six months ago.

Pietro stopped digging immediately, and suddenly appeared in front of Lance, eyes narrowed. Whether in concern or in anger, Avalanche didn't know or care. He was just happy he'd managed to get the speedster's attention, for once. "No."

"Look," he handed the book to the other boy and scratched at the back of his head, suddenly feeling pretty embarrassed about even bringing this up. But not like he had a fucking choice, right? "I know it's not exactly your favorite subject, but with Mystique gone, we're kinda fucked if Magneto doesn't come through..."

Pietro's eyes were scanning the last page in the book, over and over, so quickly it almost made Lance's own eyes hurt to watch him. "What do you want me to do about it, Alvers?"

Jesus. Pietro had sure had no trouble getting a hold of his asshole father when he thought it would get him into his better graces– he'd better not _even _play stupid now. Not that Lance _wanted _to get their money from Magneto– he could care less about that bucket head and his freaky crew. While he agreed that mutants needed to fight for their place in the world, Magneto was just like every other adult, in his book. Used them when he needed them, and then conveniently forgot that they existed. 

He was a hood, not a fucking idiot. He could see the patterns.

"Can't you call him or something?"

Pietro suddenly threw the book to the side, onto his clothes-covered bed, and raised a platinum eyebrow high. "I could only call him before because he set up a number for me to call. Because he wanted me to be able to find him. The rest of the time, he finds me. And he hasn't _found _me in... oh let's see," he pretended to be thinking hard, furrowing his brow and looking up at the ceiling, "six fucking months. Since we saved his pathetic life, in fact."

Lance just shook his head, defeated. Pietro wasn't lying, like he usually was. In fact, he was pretty surprised at Pietro's attitude toward his father lately. Usually, the little errand boy did whatever daddy wanted. But lately he'd been writing the old bugger off.

But Pietro and Wanda both were being weird lately. And he looked tired, which was really strange for Maximoff. The kid always had more energy than he knew what to do with, on a normal day. 

"We got another month left," Lance told him. "We could make it two, but not with the way you and Freddy eat. Look, you're supposed to be the leader, aren't you? Sure as fuck bossed us around enough back when daddy was in the picture–,"

Pietro's dark blue eyes flashed suddenly, and he took a step closer, so that Lance could feel him breathing, could see his upper lip twitching in irritation. "Don'tpushme. Do not fucking push me on this one."

But Lance really didn't care anymore. Because... hell. He was eighteen years old! How the fuck was he supposed to feed five people? "Funny how now that he's gone, now that there's no one to back you up, now that there are only bills left for the one in charge, you don't want any part of it."

Pietro's lip twitched again, and he jabbed a long, thin finger into Lance's chest menacingly. "Seriously Alvers, don't fucking–,"

No. He just didn't care. "What are you gonna do, Pietro? You know I'm right!"

The two boys just looked at each other for a moment, jaws clenching. And then, almost simultaneously, they both relaxed, and shoulders slumped. 

Lance sighed, "Look, you know that even though I think you're a traitor and a rat bastard... we've all survived this far together. If your father isn't going to make good on his word to you two, fine, fuck it. Won't be the first time we've been screwed. And to be honest, man, I'm sick of being jerked around by whoever is paying our bills."

Pietro looked at him a moment longer, as if calculating something, then nodded once. "Me too. Sick of being jerked around in general."

"Then for once, we agree," The darker boy admitted, hardly able to believe it himself. But like it or not, these guys, their ramshackle Brotherhood... this was all he had in the world. And it had been a fucked up ride so far, but... hell. Gotta have something in life, right? "But we gotta do something, Pietro. Before we start starving again, preferably. Cause I don't think Mags is coming back."

Again, another silent moment. Then Pietro said, "No... no he's not. Not until he wants us for something."

Lance nodded again, in agreement, and clamped down on one of the other boy's shoulders with a rough hand. He'd never known his own father. But it had to suck even worse, having one like Magneto. He'd never really thought much about it before, but... yeah. Sucks to be a Maximoff.

"He gave me and Wanda extra, for random stuff. That'll give us till the New Year, I'll bet."

Wait. 

Had Pietro Maximoff just said what Lance thought he'd just said?

He narrowed his eyes at the other boy suspiciously, "Um... thanks."

Pietro turned away now, and stuck his head back into the closet, moving with astounding slowness, for once. Very deliberate. "Don't mention it, or I might change my mind."

Man, he was being weird lately. "... I can always quit school. Get a job. I'm a good mechanic, and I suck at school–,"

"Shut the fuck up, Lance," Came the reply from the closet. "You're not quitting with a few months to go, don't be an asshole."

Lance just stared as clothes began flying out of the closet once again, burying the bank book under a new mountain. "You ok lately, man?"

Pietro stopped, and looked back out at him, a surprisingly thoughtful expression on his face. "Yeah. Just having a rare bout of conscience. Don't expect them regularly."

"I wouldn't dream of it. 

AN:

Normally I would write big long messages to y'all here. Is this something I should continue? Should I just email you? Is it tacky? Do I care? Not so much, as it turns out. But since I've had a hell of a week and I have some drama to deal with tonight, you'll all be getting emails from me soon about your reviews instead. Next chapter, I will do the shout outs. 

But let me publicly thank the beta reader of the century_, **SUE PENKIVECH_.** 

And the fabulous people who've reviewed the first chapter already– Fata Morgana, Taineyah, Drunk on Tang, The Rogue Witch, Relwar, crazyspaceystracey, S-Star, Caliente, HoneyBug17, Akuma no Tsubasa, Risty, TKD, and Ima Super Mute Ant. Expect emails soon, if I know your address ;) 

I realize this chapter was not all that exciting, but it gets better (I hope) very soon! Much love -Beaubier-


	4. Promises and Threats

AN: For the purposes of this fic, I'm doing away with all accents. I did them in _Here Comes Trouble _cause the entire purpose of the fic was to amuse me, initially. I did a few in Relativity only because they do them in the comics. But this one will be long and drawn out, and reading accents sucks. So no, Sam's accent didn't disappear. But y'all know enough to fill it in yourself. And if you don't... man. You don't know what you're missing! 

Chapter Three: Promises and Threats 

Sam Guthrie chewed on his pencil eraser without meaning to at all, and stared down at his Spanish homework.

He'd been getting really good grades in Spanish since he'd worked up the nerve to talk to Wanda Maximoff outside of school. Their regular homework sessions seemed to be having a great effect on his ability to comprehend the language. 

Not to mention on his sizeable crush on Wanda herself. 

But this test that had been handed back today... this made no sense. This should've been right...

"What did you get for number three, Wanda?" He asked, without even looking up. "He marked mine wrong and I can't tell why."

He waited a moment for her response. But as far as he could tell, the beautiful girl sitting across from him made no move. Not even a sound. 

He looked up quickly, and saw that her smoky blue eyes were focused on his notebook, as if reading it upside down would somehow reveal the mysteries of life to her. 

Wanda, he realized, was zoned out.

"Wanda...?" He ventured again, reaching out and touching her fingers, which were loosely wrapped around a pen, at rest on her own notes. 

She looked up at his touch, and blinked, eyelids heavy with the scarlet shadow and thick black eyeliner that set off her face so prettily. Gave her a dark, sharp sort of look. Made her look older than she was, intimidating, but stunning. 

He liked her best when she smiled. But really, she was just as beautiful when she looked angry, thoughtful, or anything else. Made his stomach jump, when her eyes caught his. It had been a few weeks, since their first date. A little longer since that drunken hook up at the club in the city. And still, his stomach jumped. Every time.

"What?"

He swallowed. Whatever she'd been thinking about, she obviously didn't feel like sharing. But he'd figured that into his calculations for this. The daughter of Magneto was not someone you expect to be terribly open. Particularly considering her past... "Nothing," he smiled at her, and let his fingers tangle up with hers, just barely, at the fingertips. She always felt so much colder than him, especially her hands. "You sure you don't want to just call it a night? You look awful tired."

And she did. Beautiful, yes, but the darkness under her eyes, and the fact that her eyelids were drooping ever so slightly... someone else might've missed it. But not Sam, who studied her face even more than he did Spanish, these days. 

But she shook her head at him, and pushed her short bangs out of her face irritably, "No. We need to go over this now, while it's still fresh in our minds. I can't conjugate for shit." Her eyes fell away from his, almost nervously, and she looked back to the notebook.

No. This wasn't right. She must've been getting sick or something, because she wasn't acting very... Wanda at the moment. And hadn't been for a few days. She just looked... tired. "Maybe tomorrow we'd be better at it, though. I can take you home–,"

"I _said_," Her eyes met his again, and flashed dangerously, and she pulled her hand away from his, gripping the pen as if for her life, "I'm _fine_."

That was her _Talking-to-Pietro _voice. More like a growl, really. He'd heard it once or twice, already, when he'd had the pleasure of being near the Maximoff twins together. But he knew very well that if he let himself be intimidated by her constantly, he would lose her. He didn't need Roberto's bad love advice to tell him that much. So he set his jaw and said, "If you say so, fine. I'll do anything you want, Wanda. You know that. But can you tell me, honestly, that you're not dead tired?"

She glared at him for a moment, through long black eyelashes. And then, all at once, her face softened, her full red lips turned almost pouty, and she sighed briefly. 

Again, he smiled at her, feeling tension he hadn't even realized was there drain out of his shoulders. Another thing about a girl like Wanda– always kept him on his toes. But he liked to think on his feet. So that suited him just fine. 

But she did look awfully... sad, or something. Maybe it was just the tired thing, but really, that expression on her face was so unfamiliar. It could've been something bordering on depression, or concern, or maybe even anger in some strange form. Sam had always been good at reading people. But one thing he'd learned in his sixteen years on Earth was that when in doubt, it's best to ask. Because assuming you know what someone else is feeling will only get you into trouble. "Look, I know we're not exactly... close. But you can trust me. Are you sick? Is something wrong? You've been acting funny for a few days now."

A short, heavy breath, not quite a sigh, escaped her, and she leaned one elbow on the table, and used that hand to support her head, under her chin. "No, Sam," She finally spoke. "I'm ok. I'm just... I can't sleep sometimes. I have... it's... complicated."

He wanted to take her hand again, instinctively feeling that touching her would somehow help her to feel safer, somehow make things better. But he'd been brave enough with her for one day. He was getting better but... well hell, she still scared him. So he settled for putting his hand on the table, not far from hers, and hoping that she would take the invitation. "Are you thinking too much about something? My mother always says that's why our Paige can't sleep at night, sometimes. She's either worrying over something, or wishing for something."

She actually seemed to consider this, for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully as she usually did when she was thinking. "Something like that. I keep thinking of the past... and these dreams keep coming. They wake me up and I can't fall back to asleep."

"Nightmares?" 

"Sort of," she seemed reluctant, eyed him for a moment. And then pulled her eyes away from his, and focused on his hand on the table, tracing lines up and down his fingers with her own index finger, almost as if she didn't realize what she was doing. Like she just wanted something to focus on, really. "I don't know, Sam. It's just... confusing. And every time I try and think of the past, to figure out where it's coming from... my head just...," her brow creased now, in obvious irritation, and her eyes narrowed. 

He stopped her hand from toying with his by taking it, finally. Cold. Always so cold.

She looked up at him sharply. And bit at her lower lip.

Jesus. Something really was wrong with her. She was never this quiet... never this... uncertain. 

"It's ok. I'm sorry if you didn't want to talk about it. Maybe you should see the Professor. Didn't he used to...," He winced as he trailed off there. Because first off, when The Professor worked with Wanda, she was locked up in an asylum, and had been for at least eight years. A fact she probably didn't need to be reminded of. And second, Sam wasn't even sure that Wanda remembered anything much about those years. In fact, she never talked about anything before last year, as far as he could tell, aside from a vague mention of early childhood here and there. And he had some kind of recollection of Kurt saying her head had been screwed with by her father...

Oh man. _Dumb hick, just keep your mouth shut..._

But Wanda only looked confused, now. She blinked once, and shook her head slightly, absently stabbing herself in the lip with the fingernail on her pinkie. "I don't... I have no idea how I know the Professor, Sam."

So... she _did _know him... somehow...

Just... Jesus. 

It was just too big for him. All that mattered to him, in the whole mess, was her. So all he could do was smile at her again, and squeeze the surprisingly small, soft hand in his. "If it wakes you up tonight... call me."

Instantly, she sat up straight and shook her head harder this time, "It's nothing, I just got confused for a minute."

But Sam wasn't buying it. When he was little, probably only six or seven, his brother Josh, the one just younger than him, used to have nightmares. They shared a room growing up, and when it would happen, Josh would sit up screaming, and wake Sam up. He could still remember what it had been like, how his little brother's eyes were so wild, how he was so pale, his voice so hoarse. Like a different person. And the two boys would bunk down in the same bed, after that– Josh scared of his nightmares, his big brother scared for him, and talk until they fell back asleep. Josh always said it was a good thing Sam had been there. 

But no one was there for Wanda. And yeah, she was a grown woman, really. Eighteen and more independent than anyone else he knew. 

But she was human, under there. And obviously, she was worried– if not full on scared. 

"Call me," he said again, quieter this time, "Please?"

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, she closed it again, examined him closely, as she did at fairly regular intervals, in that way she had that made his ears burn. And then, after a moment, finally said, "Ok. Just... call the Institute?"

Trying not to sigh with relief, he nodded, "I'll have the phone with me. No one will mind. Bobby and Berto both snore so loud, I'll have to listen hard just to hear it ringing anyhow."

She graced him with a genuine, if half-baked, smile.

And really, that was all he wanted. He didn't really think that she'd call him, as much as he'd like her to. He wasn't even sure if he could call her a girlfriend or not– they'd been out on a few dates, hung out at her house, and spent more time doing Spanish homework than necessary. But he did like being with her, because she made him think. She looked at the world from the opposite end of things– urban, sophisticated, powerful, and cool. 

Why she gave a damn about him, he couldn't figure.

But he sure as hell wasn't going to complain.

He just wanted to hold up his end of the deal. And he wanted to make her life easier. Better. Wanted to see her smile. And a few three AM phone calls would be a small price to pay.

For him. He realized that such a thing would exact a much larger price from Wanda. It was probably a little too close to asking for help, for the girl who could probably single-handedly defeat Magneto. 

But he knew damn well he'd take the phone to bed with him every night, until she didn't look tired anymore, just the same.

* * *

Bobby Drake looked around the rec room at the Institute after school, and propped his feet up on the coffee table recklessly, giggling with glee at the prospect of having the TV all to himself. Usually Kurt put up a fight to watch anime, or Sam wanted to watch CMT, or something else dumb. But now, it was all his! And he was about to–

"Hey, snow-boy."

Bobby jumped at the unexpected intrusion, and spun in his seat to see who owned that voice. 

And saw Angel leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a slight smile on his face.

Bobby rolled his eyes and turned back around, sinking back into the couch. "It's _Iceman_, Wings. Get it right."

With a low chuckle, Warren came to sit near him, leaning forward on the couch to avoid crushing his wings, and resting his elbows on his knees. Bobby moved over to give him more room, and clicked on the TV. Time for–

"Sure, Bobby. Hey, listen...," the winged wonder beside him started talking again. "You're friends with Jeanne-Marie, right?"

"Yeah," he answered, eyeing Warren sideways. The older boy was looking down at the floor, with that weird intensity Bobby had seen in him, during the few times he'd been in his presence. He guessed that he knew Angel slightly better than most, but not as well as Scott, Rogue, or Jean. And if he was going to be asking questions about Jeanne-Marie, he should probably ask her ex-roommate. But hell, maybe he was embarrassed or something, too embarrassed to ask a girl. The guy was hella quiet, really.

_Damn you and your lingo, Alex Summers. _

"We hang out a lot," he continued. It was pretty obvious that Warren had something serious to ask about her, and he was sure he knew what it was. He'd seen the two of them talking in the hallway just the other day, like old friends, and JM's trademark charm was most definitely having its effect on him. But just to be obtuse, he said, "But if this is about the ice in Scott's underwear, we didn't do it!"

The blonde boy's head snapped around to face him, and he raised one golden eyebrow. "...Right."

Bobby just smiled at him, happily. He liked Worthington, actually. The guy was a little too old to be that much fun, probably, almost four whole years older than Bobby himself. But he was an alright guy. And JM would definitely go for that type. Strong, silent, and really handsome. But he wasn't going to offer up information on a silver platter. The guy had to _ask _for it, at least!

"No," Warren finally started again, a distinct crease forming on his forehead as he obviously considered what he wanted to say. "I... I was just wondering if she... well, I heard that she just broke it off with someone–,"

"Yeah," he interrupted, getting impatient with cool guy's stuttering. Jesus, spit it out, wings. "Berto. He's suite-mates with me and Sam. Has the little sectioned off part of our room."

Warren nodded, but looked mildly irritated. 

Bobby kept grinning. Feeding Warren useless information was pretty fun, really. 

"So... do you think she'd... well, I know it's soon, but–,"

"Oh yeah, it's only been a few weeks. You know man, Roberto was so busted up about it too," Bobby chattered on, joyfully messing with the older boy's head. "Seriously, I think he cried himself to sleep that night. He doesn't anymore, but man did he lose big time on that one."

Warren shifted uncomfortably, and his wings ruffled slightly. "Oh. Yes, I suppose..."

"But whatever, right? I mean, JM will be fine, I mean, every guy here would give his left nut to go out with her."

"Yes... ah, I could imagine...," he was stuttering now, and turning a faint shade of pink. 

Bobby fought _very _hard not to giggle, at the sight of the perfect superhero in such a state of ultimate discomfort. "I mean, even Scott can't help himself around her."

"Scott?" Warren's brow furrowed. "I didn't... I thought..."

Oh god... he couldn't help it any more. He started laughing now, suddenly, and leaned back in the chair, well amused with himself. "Dude, I'm fucking with you! Scott doesn't want her, she's getting to be like a sister to all of us! Oh man, your face is pink."

Much to Bobby's continued amusement, Warren's heroic face seemed caught somewhere between embarassment, anger, and relief. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but was obviously bested by the same confusion that was showing on his face. Instead, he just shook his head, and let a slow smile creep onto his face. 

Jesus. He couldn't take this anymore. Bobby stopped laughing, after another moment, and finally answered, breathlessly, "She'd go out with you." 

The older boy's blue eyes widened in surprise, and he suddenly seemed to forget that he had just been messed with, hardcore.

Oh right, like it took a fucking psychic to tell that he was into JM. Who _wasn't _into JM, when they first met her? She was smart, funny, easy to talk to, sweet, and looked amazing in her costume. Christ. "That's what you're asking me, isn't it, bird-brain?" 

The bird-brain crack seemed to bring Warren out of it, as he sat up a little straighter, and cocked an eyebrow again. "Yes. It is."

Bobby shrugged, now totally back to being serious, "Go for it. She's ok about Berto. I think she was more upset about JP's reaction to the break-up than the break-up itself."

Again, Warren nodded, considering. "I see."

"You're her type anyhow," he looked back to the TV and began clicking his way up the channels. 

But this had apparently piqued the winged dude's interest, and he asked, "I am?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "I figured you'd be smoother, Worthington. Yes, trust me, she'll say yes."

Damn. Rich, good looking guys were supposed to act like Jean-Paul and get whoever they wanted weren't they? Jesus, Bobby figured _he _was probably smoother than Mister Pretty-boy over here...

"Right," Angel said, obviously satisfied now. "Thanks, Drake."

"Any time."

Warren stood to go, but Bobby had another thought, before he even reached the door. "Oh, Angel... one more thing," he turned around and sat backwards, looking over the back of the couch now. 

The other boy stopped and turned to look at him, cocking his head curiously.

"If you are serious about JM– and I hope to god you don't screw around with her, because you will be in a world of pain, and she'd have first dibs, then give you to me– you might want to think about making nice with Jean-Paul." 

"Why is that?"

Bobby grinned, thinking of Roberto's face the last time he and Jean-Paul had one of their little run-ins. He'd never seen Sunspot quite so pale, or quite so wide-eyed, as on that day. "He made Berto miserable. And if he doesn't think you're treating Jeanne-Marie right, he'll do the same for you."

Warren pulled a very clear "yeah right" expression, and turned to go.

"No, seriously. I like you Warren, I really don't want you to die."

Warren stopped, and looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. 

Ah, that got his attention. "Jean-Paul is like a volcano. He's quiet for awhile, and just a little scary. But when he explodes, you don't wanna be anywhere near it. Because that is some seriously fast molten lava, man, and you can't outfly it. I promise."

At that, the older boy smiled, and nodded, "I could see that, actually. I'll keep it in mind."

Bobby gave him a thumbs up, and turned back to his TV. Dude was in for an interesting ride, that much was for sure. Silently, he wished him luck. And called him crazy. 

Ah well, at least it had been a laugh. Maybe Worthington wasn't so boring after all. At least, not boring to make fun of. 

And _finally, _he could watch _Passions_ in peace!

* * *

He'd been looking for Jeanne-Marie, of course, the moment he came into the Institute. But when he'd asked Jean about her, he'd been told that she was probably out doing homework. And considering Jean's frosty tone when informing him, he figured that was about all the information he should ask her for today– she was clearly unhappy about _something_. 

Maybe it was Scott. Warren felt like an idiot, for not knowing that the two X-Men were involved. Not that he'd seen them together that much. At least, not when there wasn't some kind of life-threatening situation on hand that took precedence. But he'd talked to Scott more than a few times, at length, and Jean had just spent the last two weeks at his side... he'd think that _someone _would've mentioned it to him. 

Not that it mattered. He hadn't tried to put any moves on her, he had nothing to feel bad about...

Not that he _had_ any moves, per se. 

Which was too bad, because he got the feeling that Jeanne-Marie Beaubier _did _have moves. At least, she was extremely comfortable around the opposite sex. And affectionate. And absolutely magnetic. 

He shook his head, turning down the hallway toward the conference room he knew Xavier and the others would be waiting for him in. They had news about Worthington Industries for him, about the things that he and Jean had uncovered during their seemingly endless research. He did not need to be thinking about Jeanne-Marie...

It was hard though. He hadn't stopped thinking about her, in fact, since he'd seen her for the first time. It wasn't even that she was beautiful, which she was. Sweet-faced and fine-boned, those big, shockingly blue eyes, the fire behind them... but there was more to it than that. For the last few days, every time he'd been at the Institute, he'd made it a point to find her. And she always smiled at him so easily, put her arm through his, asked him questions that friends ask. And he always found himself talking to her as if he'd known her for ages, like it was nothing. There was just something about her that made him feel...

Normal? No, not just normal. Accepted. Content with his life. Something like feeling loved, really, for who and what he was. Not that she _loved _him, but it did feel... warm like that. And although he thought his sudden obsession with her might be a little out of hand, he couldn't resist the chance to get a little closer. He just didn't know anyone else like her. She was just so–

"Hey, Warren," Scott was beside him when he came out of his reverie, opening the door for him. "You feeling ok?"

He smiled and nodded, "Yes, I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"Dangerous habit," Scott raised his eyebrows.

Apparently so.

~~~~

"Your hunch was right, you two," Xavier was nodding his bald head at Warren and Jean, where they sat side by side at the huge round table. "ExGen _does _have links to certain parties of note. Namely, Sinister."

Jean sucked in a breath, just to his left, and Warren looked over to see her green eyes gone wide. "Essex! That was the name on the castle they took Jeanne-Marie and Pietro to, when Sinister kidnaped them!" 

Wait. Jeanne-Marie and _who_? Pietro what? And why was that name familiar?

But the Professor was already nodding again, so Warren decided to keep his questions to himself, and hope that all would be explained. "Yes, Jean, and we have reason, now, to believe that Sinister _is _Dr. Nathaniel Essex, in fact."

Sinister. Kidnaper? Geneticist? What the hell were they talking about...?

"Wait a minute, Professor," Scott was shaking his head, on the other side of Jean. "That man, that _thing _we saw... he looked middle-aged. Well, if he'd looked a little more human he would. I don't think he would've been old enough in 1955–,"

"Neither would I, kid, to look at me," Logan's gruff voice added in, from next to Xavier.

Warren looked over at the feral mutant, and tried to hold back his distaste. The man was clearly untrustworthy. Just something in his eyes... he'd seen something like that in the eyes of muggers and murderers and other common street scum before. And Wolverine gave him the creeps, because of it. 

But he couldn't keep quiet about this anymore. He was confused, and this meeting was _about _him. If he couldn't follow, he wasn't much help. And he'd spent long enough letting someone else run the show for him at Worthington Industries. Obviously, his parents weren't discriminating enough with their interests. He wasn't about to let that continue, not on his watch. "So, what you're saying," he spoke up, "is that my family funds research by some maniac who experiments on mutants? He actually _kidnaped _Jeanne-Marie?"

"I'm afraid so, Warren," was the Professor's answer. 

Funny, how the man somehow managed to sound detached, yet as if he were sympathetic. An oxymoron in the sound of his voice.

But Warren didn't feel so detached. He just stared for a moment, all else forgotten, finally. Because really, he was watching his worst-case scenario unfold before his eyes. It was as bad as he'd feared, if this was true. No, it was _worse_ than he'd feared... there was an actual, honest to god, _supervillain _involved. 

Part of him thought it was a damn good thing he'd become suspicious and looked into this. But another tiny part, the weak, scared part that everyone had, but that he was so ashamed of, wished he had never thought of it. 

Jean was obviously not feeling so detached either. She leaned back in her chair and shook her head, "My god, I didn't realize..."

"What can we do, Professor?" Scott asked, after only a moment's downtime. 

Warren took a deep breath, at the business-like sound of Cyclops' voice, thankful for the guy's natural ability to just _deal_, an ability he both admired and envied, if just a bit, and looked up hopefully.

But it was Logan who answered, taking the chewed up end of an unlit cigar out of his mouth to do so. "Nothing for now. We gotta use Warren's connections to ExGen to find out for sure if Sinister is still involved in their operation. And if not, who is, and what they're up to?"

"I can request a full report," he said, immediately. Action was the only way to get rid of the tiny voice of doubt, he knew all too well. And the only way to get rid of this sinking feeling of guilt in his stomach was to be proactive. Here was his chance. "We're footing so much of their bills, if I can make them see how serious Worthington Industries is about backing out, they'll give us much greater access. Not full, but enough that we can get inside and find a way to get it ourselves."

Everyone at the table was nodding at him, and Xavier spoke again, "I wish Aurora could go with you, since she would know and recognize the kind of equipment and personalities we are working with here. If we could somehow disguise her beyond recognition, perhaps with an inducer. But I don't think she can handle the strain of facing her past just yet."

Ah yes, he'd heard about this as well. Ages ago, when the Beaubiers had first arrived, he'd spoken to Scott online, and had been given the story a bout Jeanne-Marie's fragile state at the time. He honestly found it hard to believe that the sweet, friendly, flirtatious girl he'd met a few days ago could change into something so fragile. But then, if the Professor was still concerned about it, he wouldn't want to endanger her. No matter how much he'd like to have her on his arm, even if it was just for some undercover operation. 

And if he didn't bite the bullet and just ask her out soon, that might be the _only _way he'd ever have her on his arm...

"I don't know," Scott was shaking his head, tapping his fingers on the table in front of him ponderously, "She's been stable since the last incident, and that was months ago. For the most part, anyhow. I know that her disorder hasn't disappeared, but maybe if we put the right spin on things, make sure we get Aurora instead of Jeanne-Marie–,"

"It's too risky," Jean cut him off, gently. "If something happens and she blows Warren's cover...," She looked over to him now, and bit at her lip, obviously considering the possibility rather deeply, and not liking it.

That did not bode well, he decided. But things would be easier if he had someone with him who knew what to look for, what to expect. "If she knows about this Sinister, it might be worth the risk. Is there anyone else?"

"Just Maximoff," Scott sighed.

Maximoff. Ok, that name he definitely remembered. "Which one? Aren't they...?"

"Magnus' children, yes Warren," Xavier was answering now, steepling his fingers and cocking one eyebrow in an impressive, and obviously unconscious Spock impression. "No, Quicksilver is not dependable. He has no allegiance to anyone, thanks to his...," But the Professor trailed off there, shaking his head. "No, not Pietro. You'll have to go it alone."

Pietro. Right, that was where he'd heard that name. He barely remembered the brat, but he knew enough to pity Jeanne-Marie for her kidnaping even more, if she was with that creep. 

"You know, Professor," Scott leaned forward, elbows on the table now, "If you sent Jean-Paul, that'd make Maximoff a pretty safe bed. He's shady, but I don't think he'd back out on JP. He might, but it's pretty unlikely."

Xavier seemed to consider this for a moment, an expression of mild shock on his face. It was obviously an avenue he had not considered taking. "True."

Warren, however, was hopelessly confused once again. Not being privy to the ins and outs of X-Men politics was certainly becoming a handicap. And if he wanted to take care of business, he'd need to fix that. "They're friends?"

Jean shifted beside him, and offered him a bemused grin, "It's a little more complicated than that."

But Logan was not so shy about informing him of the situation. "They're screwing."

Scott put his head in his hands, and Warren could've sworn he was laughing. Jean shook her head and hid her face with a screen of red hair, so he couldn't see her reaction. Xavier simply raised his eyebrow again. 

And Warren felt like an idiot. He could feel his face flushing. And suddenly this chair was _very _uncomfortable. He fought the urge to fidget, and looked down at the table. 

Jesus. What a day he was having. First that idiot Drake messing with him, and now this. Well, how was he supposed to know? No one had told him that Jean-Paul and Pietro were _gay _for god's sake. If they had, then maybe he would've thought before he asked, and not have to be sitting in the same room with the proper Jean Grey and Professor Xavier while Wolverine discussed who was _screwing _who...

"Well, it's true," Logan shrugged, after a moment, with a smarmy sort of grin.

"I see," Warren finally made himself say, still refusing to meet the feral's eyes. He would, eventually. Once his ears stopped burning.

"No," Xavier blessedly spoke again, "They're too volatile. Jean-Paul has my implicit trust, in these matters, of course. But no matter if Pietro may... like him, that doesn't make him anywhere near as trustworthy."

"Speaking of which," Scott asked, obviously accepting this answer as the truth, "has anyone heard from Magneto? Or any of his crew?"

Logan was the first to answer, shaking his head, "Not a goddamn word. Haven't even smelled the Cajun lurking around, since he left here last time."

Jean sat up a little straighter, and her expression turned to one of shock and concern. "He used to _lurk_?"

Now that guy, Warren remembered. And to be honest, the idea of Gambit lurking around here even made _him _wary. They didn't come much shadier. The way that guy had just slid right past all his security, taken that Spider Stone like he'd left it outside on the front stoop, gift-wrapped... not that it had been his fault, he'd been under mind control. But anyone who knew how to do that kind of thing was probably not to be trusted.

Xavier, however, ignored the sidetrack to his meeting, and said, "I'd appreciate it if no one mentioned this outside of this room. Particularly to Jeanne-Marie. She may yet have to face Sinister again, but I'd rather it wasn't today."

"Understood, Professor," Scott said, "But I still think she can handle at least hearing about it."

"We'll see after her session tonight, Scott," Xavier conceded. "Dismissed. Warren, could I speak with you for a moment?"

Jean, Scott, and Logan all got up to leave the room and started to file out, but Warren leaned forward a little more in his seat, curious. "Of course, Professor."

"I spoke to the research foundation your parents supported in Canada that you discovered made a large contribution to a project concerning mutant genetics. They directed me to a Dr. Walter Langkowski, who now works for the government himself, apparently on some sort of top-secret project. If you're interested in finding out about his work, I did manage to find a number for his department."

Slowly, Warren nodded. The idea that his family was involved in more than one nefarious plot against mutants was a little more than he was ready to stomach, today. But it was his responsibility. "I'll talk to him."

"I don't think it's going to be any trouble," Xavier smiled at him, voice taking on that strange sympathetic echo again. "I believe this project is purely for knowledge's sake."

"Let's hope you're right, Professor X."

* * * 

Jeanne-Marie was surprised. She'd just had to work on a literature project with Pietro and Lance, and she had gotten out of there without wanting to kill either of them. 

She hadn't thought she'd see the day.

She hung up her coat in the front closet, and headed straight for the TV room, where she just _knew _that Bobby would be hogging the channel changer. Not that she cared– she didn't have any "shows," like most of the other kids. But she did enjoy watching them battle over who got to watch what they wanted on the big tv in there.

Sure enough, there he was, feet in place on the coffee table, subjecting Kitty to something she was obviously not that excited about. The brunette girl had a look of pure boredom on her face.

Bobby, on the other hand, was smiling in contentment. 

Jeanne-Marie sat down next to him, dropping her book bag next to his feet on the table, and leaned on him heavily. 

"Long day, JM?" He asked, sweetly, patting her on the leg.

She nodded as best she could with her head on his shoulder. 

He took a deep breath as if he was about to say something else, but something behind her caught his attention, and he suddenly stood up.

She watched him with vague irritation, as he grabbed the bored Kitty by her arms, and hauled her up. "C'mon Kit, I gotta show you something."

"Like, what?" She protested. 

"Something in my room. JM, we'll be back in five."

"Drake, you better not be talking about what I think you're–,"

But their argument was lost as they went up the stairs, and Jeanne-Marie found herself alone with the TV.

She blinked, confused. But then, Bobby's actions rarely made complete sense to her. 

When she turned back to face the TV, however, she saw someone in the doorway, out of the corner of her eye. Someone, she was happy to find, with wings.

"Hello, Angel."

He smiled that gentle smile of his, and came to sit next to her. "Please, call me Warren."

They had to go through this nearly every time they spoke. She did think of him as Warren, but she'd always loved angels so much, as a child. Granted, they could be terrifying as well. But so beautiful. 

He was not, of course, an angel. She knew that. He was just a man, and a very sweet one at that. "Of course, Warren. How was the meeting?"

"Informative," he replied, "If heavily... depressing. The family business has its fingers in some pretty terrible shit...." But he trailed off and looked over at her, a wry, somewhat crooked smile on his face. Not his usual million-dollar smile. "Heh, sorry. You don't want to–,"

"I do," she cut him off, before he could tell her what she did and did not want to hear. When she'd first met him, she'd thought he was interesting. He honestly didn't seem to realize how wonderful he is. Now, after only a few days, she had decided that it was no act– he was genuine. Which, of course, only made her more interested in just how he could've come out that way. Surely just having wings wouldn't be enough for someone as intelligent, thoughtful, and funny as Warren Worthington to look so... sad all the time. Like he was apart from everything. Like he had no idea he was beautiful. "You know, Warren... I see you here every day now. I watch you, sometimes. And you only smile if someone makes a funny joke, or when you first greet someone. You seem so sad and thoughtful all the time." Then, on impulse, she reached out and touched the edge of his wing, carefully, feeling the silkiness of the feathers, the strength beneath, with just a fingertip. So much softer than a bird's wing. Like an angel's. "And you're so beautiful, it seems wrong."

She slid her finger down just a bit, with his feathers, and he immediately sat straighter, shoulders tensing.

Jeanne-Marie looked back up at his eyes, pulling her hand away quickly, and silently berating herself. What if she'd hurt him? She didn't know one way or the other if he could stand to have them touched! "I'm sorry–,"

"No," he said, quickly, baby blue eyes darting to hers, away again, and then finally catching hers for good. He smiled at her, and she realized, with great relief, that she hadn't hurt him at all. "I just... most people never even see them, let alone touch them. I forget... they're sensitive."

She nodded, understanding. Of course. What a fool she was. "To catch the wind, _non_?"

"Yes," he kept smiling, without showing his teeth, pink lips pressed together as if they had to hold the full on grin he was capable of inside, for an unknown reason, "But, what you said. I suppose sometimes I look sad, yes, but beautiful really isn't the word."

Grinning, she offered, "Dashingly handsome?"

He laughed quietly, a low, controlled sound that somehow felt infectious. So she laughed with him. And then he winked at her quickly, "Well, yes, of course."

"See," she took his hand in hers and squeezed it, "You smiled!"

"Must be you."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Am I so funny-looking?"

Smile becoming even wider, he just shook his head. Almost like he couldn't believe what she was saying. "No. Not at all. Jeanne-Marie?"

"Yes?"

He appeared to swallow hard, but his eyes never left hers as he asked, "Would you have dinner with me?"

She felt her eyes go wide, and blinked at him a few times, lost for words. 

Well, she knew that he liked her. And she was certainly interested in him. But she honestly had no idea that he liked her enough to... "Tonight?" She tried to buy herself time, to give him the answer she knew she wanted to, without giggling like a little girl.

"Any night," he told her, earnestly. "You choose."

Now, it was her turn to swallow. Her heart was suddenly in her throat, beating like a rabbit's, and she couldn't seem to make it go back to where it belonged. "Well, I have a history test tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow night?"

She couldn't keep from smiling, as she told him, "Yes, tomorrow night."

Oh dear Lord... had he really just asked her for a date? Angel, asking her for a date? She barely knew him, she shouldn't be so excited, maybe he was strange and snotty and...

Oh god.

"Would you rather go out, or should I cook?"

His wings ruffled, slightly, as he asked, and caught her attention. She knew that when he went out, he kept them hidden. He was lovely with or without... but if she was going to be with him, she wanted to be with all of him. Not some front he put up for the rest of the world. Just him. "I don't want you to hide yourself, Warren."

"I'll pick you up at seven," was his immediate answer. "Dinner will be ready at eight."

* * * 

Pietro threw his backpack onto the floor in his room, and stretched his tired back out instantly, reaching high into the air. It had been a really damn long day– school in the morning, then working on that stupid project with Jeanne-Marie (who, luckily, was almost as smart as her brother) and Lance (who was... well smarter than average, but nowhere near to Pietro, of course.) After that, which had taken about three hours, JP had been taken by another of his reckless samosa cravings, so they'd gone for Indian.

This was, in fact, the first time he'd been home since seven AM. And he was actually pretty happy to see the place.

As Pietro stretched, Jean-Paul dropped his bag next to his friend's and started digging in it. Pietro knew that he had some reading to do, but had invited him over anyhow. He was tired and cranky, but... Pietro really didn't want to be alone right then. Whether JP had figured that out, or just didn't mind where he did his homework, Pietro didn't much care. He was just glad that the X-Man had agreed to hang out awhile longer. In fact, he was halfway hoping that JP would pass out in his bed, and end up there all night.

Maybe having someone else around would keep the nightmares at bay. Or, at least, make it easier to fall asleep.

It usually was easier, when Jean-Paul slept over, oddly enough. And not just because that usually meant that they were both worn out. Maybe having him around just gave Pietro something to think about, other than his miserable life, how stupid everyone around him was, how trapped he felt, the stupid fucking nightmares...

"Pietro...?"

The silver-haired boy turned his head to look at JP, who was now stretched out on his bed with his lit reader in one hand and something white and plastic in the other.

Whoa. He'd really just zoned out there for a few. "Huh?"

Jean-Paul shook the white thing at him once, and it rattled. 

Oh. Right. The pills.

"What's this?" JP inquired, eyebrows dangerously high.

No shit, Sherlock. "Valium. I believe it says right on the label, boy genius."

JP narrowed his electric blue eyes at him, and popped the bottle open, examining its contents carefully. "What's it doing in here? And half gone?"

Pietro rolled his eyes reflexively. He figured that _someone _would have to give him shit about this, but he really hadn't expected it from Jean-Paul. The guy knew plenty about the usefulness of drugs when dealing with hyperactive systems. "Figure it out, speed bump."

Jean-Paul carefully replaced the cap on the pill bottle, and set it back on the night stand, then leveled a stare at Pietro that the Brotherhood speedster was surprised didn't fry his brain. Or steal his soul. "Maximoff, if you weren't by nature so fucking fast, I'd swear you were retarded."

Once he'd had a moment to recover from the heat of Jean-Paul's glare, Pietro attempted to shoot one of equal intensity right back, and planted his hands on his hips. "Look dude, fuck off. I really don't need this right now, especially from my friendly neighborhood drug dealer."

Predictably enough, Jean-Paul was unimpressed. "Once in awhile, a great while, yes, it's nice to get fucked up and relax. But this is different. Since when are you a socially-acceptable-Valium-addiction-bearing-housewife type?" 

Alright. Now "addiction" was an awful strong word. Jesus, he couldn't sleep! That's what the shit was _for _was it not? Granted, Pietro had to take enough to knock out a decent-sized horse for it to actually have the full effect, but still, what the fuck was he supposed to do? "That's the first bottle I bought. I can't fucking sleep right, ok...," 

But once he started talking, he found that he simply didn't have the energy to keep up his righteous indignation any longer, and let his hands fall to his side, his shoulders slump. "Something's wrong."

JP sat up straight now, and Pietro carefully avoided those eyes as he asked, "What is it?"

"I don't know," came the automatic answer.

The automatic lie. He _did _know. But he wasn't about to admit that dreams from his childhood had him so wrecked. It was so fucking stupid...

"You do," JP, predictably enough, wasn't buying it. He put down his book and pushed himself to the edge of the bed, faint worry lines marring the hard, smooth angles of his face now. Not angry anymore, at least, which was good. "Look, this is getting out of hand. Whatever is bothering you has to stop. You look like hell, and–,"

Pietro let out a loud, derisive snort to cut him off, suddenly _extremely _uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. "Ohyeah.Igetit. God forbid the boy toy isn't up to par for a few days."

As soon as he said it, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. And he wished he could take it back.

But he also knew that he'd meant it to hurt Jean-Paul. He wasn't sure how he knew it would, but he did.

Jean-Paul's eyes flashed, hot and electric, then turned to ice. Pietro watched the simple series of movements that the other boy executed in a mere fraction of a second, consciously allowing himself to speed up with Jean-Paul's burst of speed, but making no move to avoid him. The X-Man, visibly vibrating with the build up of energy in his body that his powers caused, to Pietro's eyes, stood, took two long, certain strides, and sprung like a tiger. 

Pietro let himself be slammed against the wall, in fast forward, hard. He felt the impact through his bones, and was honestly surprised that he hadn't ended up through the wall, in Lance's room.

Not that it mattered. His whole body already ached with exhaustion. Why not throw in a few well-deserved bruises?

And Jean-Paul was on him now, had him by the front of the sweater, breathing hard, inches from his face. And the Canuck was seriously fucking pissed. Normally, JP slamming him against a wall, or any other number of mildly violent acts, would've been a real turn-on. But not when he had that look in his eyes. When Jean-Paul looked like that, like he was about to beat the shit out of the next person to open his mouth, Pietro had to admit that he was really fucking scary. And _not _in a good way.

But he deserved the pain, for that. So bring it on, Jean-Paul.

"You're a real fucking bastard sometimes, you know that?" the dark-haired boy hissed at him, eyes frozen, jaw muscle working hard, breath hot and short.

Without meaning to, Pietro looked down. He knew it was a heinously submissive action... but fuck. He really wanted to take it back now. Bad.

Jean-Paul slammed his fist into Pietro's chest, the one clutching his sweater, and trapped him between the fist and the wall, less than gently. "Fucking look at me."

Pietro did, instantly. His eyes scanned his best friend's face, found it cold and beautiful in a way that almost hurt him to see. And he felt like he was choking on something, suddenly.

After a moment's thought, he recognized the only vaguely familiar sensation. Guilt. 

"I know what you're doing," JP growled, letting go of his sweater, but jabbing him in the chest with one finger instead. His eyes never let up, and Pietro was caught by them, he knew, until Jean-Paul saw fit to release him from their hold. "You think that if you piss me off enough, I'll fuck off and leave you alone, shut up about whatever it is that has you so fucked up, and let you pretend you're a hard ass. That worked a few months ago, _mon ami_, but not anymore. I know you too well."

Pietro swallowed hard, and felt his stomach flip. "That's touching," he managed to squeeze out, trying desperately to give it the sarcastic spin he didn't feel at all.

But Jean-Paul, still fearless and utterly in control, only put one warm hand to his face for a moment, still staring him down threateningly. The combination of the two message confused Pietro, and only increased his sense of panic, that Jean-Paul was the tiger here, and Pietro had a fair chance of not making it out alive. JP's hand on his face was almost comforting, it was so gentle. But those eyes...

"Yes, it _is _touching," the other boy suddenly pulled his hand away and took a step backwards. "And don't pretend you don't think it is, you prick."

Pietro stared, now totally taken back, and watched as JP turned around and sauntered back to the bed, then threw himself on it and stretched out again.

First off, how the fuck could he know that? And second... hello split personality! Man, that shit must be genetic, or something...

With a resigned sigh, the silver-haired speedster followed his friend's lead, and threw himself down on the bed next to him. Achingly tired– too tired to fight. And too scared to be alone, really, which was what this all boiled down to. He was too tired, in fact, to deny that at the moment. "I'm just grouchy. I need to sleep, but I'm too tense. Achy, you know? I can't even think straight."

Jean-Paul, face now composed, eyes back to calm, crystal pools of blue, was examining the pill bottle interestedly again. "This shit... once in awhile I'm sure it's fine. But how long did it take you to eat half the bottle?"

Busted. He'd bought the bottle two days ago.

"Well," he tried to somehow skirt the issue, "I have to take eight at a time, or it doesn't work. Just makes me groggy."

JP closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them to cast a venomous sidelong glance at the other boy. "Fuck. I swear to god, Pietro, right here right now– If you fucking kill yourself, I will come after you and drag you back into the land of the living just so I can have the pleasure of killing you myself."

That actually made Pietro laugh. "Again, touching." But in a fucked up, JP kind of way... it kinda was. It was pretty nice, really, to have someone worry about him. Even if Jean-Paul's worrying involved slamming him into walls. 

"I'm on a roll today," his friend replaced the pills on the night stand and then turned back to face Pietro, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Maybe you should talk to Mr. McCoy. Or even Xavier."

Pietro rolled his eyes. _Oh yeah, since adults are so good at fucking me over, let me give a few more a line in on my life._ "No way. I'm not some goddamn five-year-old. It's just a nightmare–,"

"Nightmare?" Jean-Paul cut in, his face now showing concern outright.

"Fuck," Pietro sighed. He hadn't meant to say that aloud... "Jesus, I'm tired."

Jean-Paul sat up suddenly, and held out a hand to pull him up as well. "Take your shirt off."

Pietro accepted the hand and sat up, then raised his eyebrows suggestively. Not that JP's appetites should really surprise him anymore. Hell, if he'd been feeling on top of his game, he probably would've been all over the guy by now. Look at him, sitting there in that tight T-shirt, in those jeans that looked like he'd had them custom–

"Don't get excited," the X-Man was shaking his head and smiling. "You're in no condition."

"True."

"And anyhow, if that's what I wanted, I'd take it off myself."

"Also true."

Pietro complied anyhow, and threw his shirt on the floor carelessly. Jean-Paul made a sort of "turn around" gesture with one hand. Again, Pietro did as he was told, and stretched out on his stomach, head cradled in his arms. Ah yeah, this was the life.

"You said you're tense," JP was explaining, as Pietro felt the other boy climb on top of him, one leg on either side, and come to rest lightly just at Pietro's tailbone. "I can put you to sleep, if that's what's keeping you up. We had a trainer from South Africa once, when I was on the national team– he had this strange degree in something like... human kinetics and ergonomics. Something to that effect. He was a genius when it came to muscle therapy. He taught us how to work out cramps or tension for each other, when he wasn't there to do it for us." 

Pietro closed his eyes as Jean-Paul's voice continued to drift over him, softer than usual, strangely... patient. He felt his friend's fingers push on him slightly, at his lower back, and then slide up, applying constant pressure to the tense ridges of his muscles. JP repeated the action a few times, like he was feeling Pietro out. Before long, Pietro was sighing aloud with contentment at the warmth from the other boy's strong hands and the effect it was having on his tired body. After a little more kneading, more like Jean-Paul was ironing out the bunches in Pietro's muscles, Jean-Paul started concentrating on the really painful spots, the ones that felt, at least, to the sleepy speedster, as if they were more bone than muscle at the moment. 

He was in heaven– drunk on exhaustion and the strangely blissful feeling of just being _touched _by someone he trusted. He lost track of what the hands on his back were doing, more involved in the simple sensation of the weight of Jean-Paul on him, and the feeling of the knots in his muscles untying themselves under his hands. But eventually, he recovered enough lucidity to realize that part of the bliss had to do with the fact that the Canadian boy's hands were actually vibrating against him, when he came to the particularly nasty spots.

Sleepily, Pietro smiled– grateful, and not for the first time, for his best friend's fantastically useful mutation. Funny, though, to think that ten minutes ago JP had been ready to kill him. And now, he was making him remember just how good being alive could feel.

But then, that was one of the brilliant things about Jean-Paul Beaubier. Never a dull moment.

"Trainer teach you that too?" He mumbled, as he felt a sudden vibration in his friend's fingers seep into his back, loosening the knot Jean-Paul was applying his efforts to at the moment.

Somewhere above him, JP laughed. "I made some modifications. You're a wreck."

"God it feels good," he sighed contentedly again. Because damn, now his lower back was starting to feel alright, and JP was moving up toward his shoulders and... guh.

"That's the idea."

"You should move in with us," Pietro mumbled, swimming in his half-asleep bliss.

Another laugh from above. "Jesus. You'd be dead in a week."

"Yeah," Pietro agreed, "But I'd have a blissful fucking week before you finally cracked and decided to kill me, Jean-Paul."

JP kept laughing quietly for a moment, and dug into Pietro's aching shoulders with a ferocity that was somehow all too kind. Pietro kept sighing happily, mumbling that it felt good now and then, warm and sleepy and starting to drift off, until Jean-Paul finally spoke again. "Throw that horrible shit away."

"I'm going to have to ask you to shut the fuck up now," Pietro was in no mood to have his moment of joy interrupted, thank you very much. "You fucking pothead."

"_Once_ in the past six months, Pietro," JP reminded him. "Our physiology, especially yours–,"

"Shut up with your human kinetics and ergonomics already. You're making me tense again."

Jean-Paul smoothed out the muscles near his shoulder blades, the squeezed his shoulders. "I am not. I can feel you, remember."

But Pietro was too far gone to argue now. Five more minutes of this treatment and he'd be sleeping like a baby. "Jean-Paul, shut up and fix me."

* * * 

"Which brings us to the third major factor in evolution– mutation. This is the single fastest way in which evolution can move forward–,"

"How do we know it's going _forward_?"

Jean Grey shifted in her seat, trying not to look uncomfortable.

She knew very well that many of the students in her class realized that she was a mutant. It had not been made an issue, not at all. A fact which had surprised her, initially. But since they'd been on the subject of evolution, she'd noticed more and more wary glances being cast in her direction. Professor Johns was wonderful, of course– she never made a comment about mutants that wasn't textbook, and spoke of evolution with a completely unbiased, scientific approach that Jean admired. And she was a good woman, as well, fair and intelligent and caring about her students. But it was those students who worried Jean, some times. Because the air in class had lately been thick with between-the-lines questions that obviously related directly to _the mutant problem_. 

A _problem_ that she, at least, in their eyes, was likely seen as a part of. 

A problem that, as far as she was concerned, was not a _problem _at all.

"That's just it," The professor answered, sitting herself on her desk and looking up at the student who had asked, a girl only a few rows down from Jean. "We don't know if it's going to be a useful mutation, one that gives the organism an advantage over the rest of their species, thereby making them more likely to pass their genes on, or if it will be a harmful one that will cause that organism's chances of procreating to lower drastically."

A boy on the other side of the auditorium spoke up now, "So if a mutant has some kind of advantage over me, their kids are likely to have an advantage over mine?"

Her stomach dropped when she heard it. That was the first time any_ direct _questions had been asked about mutants posing a genetic "threat" to humanity. 

She took a deep breath, sat up straight, and raised her hand.

Because yes, she was a mutant. And she was no threat to anyone. 

Anyone, at least, who didn't cross her friends or family.

Professor Johns looked up at her and smiled. "Miss Grey?"

Another breath. A look around. She could positively feel every eye in the classroom on her. Every person in there waiting to hear what she would say about this. This, she knew damn well, was a test. 

But she'd always tested well. So she began, "Thank you, Dr. Johns. This theory of evolution doesn't really apply to "mutants" as a human phenomenon. Darwinism, for our species, is not the same kind of physical survival guide it once was. _Social _Darwinism goes a lot further for humanity, when it comes to fitness– the kind of evolutionary fitness to survive long enough to pass your genes one. Money and good healthcare go a lot further than an ability to perform some sort of "inhuman" feat, large or small. And, to be honest, most humans with an active X-Factor do _not _receive any "advantage," per se, that could be at all considered to make them more fit. If anything, they are likely to be outcast by their species for the "disadvantageous," as the majority of the species sees things, nature of their mutations. And even if they were not, the evolutionary advantages, both physically and socially, are unclear."

A boy not far from her snorted loudly, "Yeah, and some mutants are just natural geniuses, right Jean? You don't call that an advantage?"

She fought the urge to spin on the boy and offer to show him just the sort of advantages being a mutant _did _have, even if its evolutionary advantages were negligible. Instead, she took another long, calming breath, and looked him in the eye. Cold, pale green eyes. 

"That's enough," The professor cut in immediately. "Thank you Miss Grey, those are excellent points that you raise. Human evolution is no longer a matter of Survival of the Fittest, in the purely physical sense, but also in the social sense. That issue is not as black and white as the media would have us believe. It isn't really our concern in this course, however, which is why we have been discussing species other than our own...,"

She went on and on, but Jean found that she was still being watched by the green-eyed boy a few moments later. She narrowed her own eyes at him, and flipped her hair nonchalantly over her shoulder, hoping that she appeared less nervous than she was. But she couldn't help but feel like he had murder in his eyes.

She told herself she was being overdramatic. But honestly...

"What's your super power Grey?" He suddenly hissed, in a loud whisper. "Ass-kissing?"

A girl beside him laughed a little too loudly, "Perfect hair?"

Someone behind her leaned forward now, and rumbled, "Whatever guys, leave her alone. Andy, everyone knows your kid brother is a mutant, so knock it off."

The boy with the pale green eyes suddenly stood, and exclaimed, "Fuck you, man!"

Jean looked from him to her defender, a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy in a Ramones T-shirt. She was partially glad to see that not _everyone _in the class was against her, but she was also mildly annoyed. She really could handle it...

"Mr. Rasz," Dr. Johns had her hands on her hips, and was glaring at the standing boy. "Is there a problem?"

"He's not a mutant!" the boy protested, removing the hat that sported his Greek letters and moving as if he would lunge over the seats at Ramones boy, right through Jean if necessary. One of his friends held him back, the girl who had suggested that her mutant power was perfect hair, less than cleverly.

"That's lovely," the professor pointed emphatically at the door. "Now sit down or get out."

Andy Rasz, for Jean had gleaned his name from the conversation around her, took a moment to glare at her again. 

Jean glared right back, and set her jaw defiantly. She'd be damned before she let any mutant hater intimidate her. Not here, not in her own school. She was an American too, goddammit.

And she won, this round. The boy's upper lip curled in disgust, but he turned his back, and stalked off, through the door.

Dr. Johns carried on with her lecture, as if nothing had happened. But Jean felt herself shaken, inside. It hadn't been that bad, and she'd known that she should expect problems... but something about that boy was just unnerving. 

Andy's little girlfriend was speaking again now, however, and just loud enough so that Jean couldn't help but overhear. "Jesus. Fucking muties causing problems everywhere. Someone oughtta do something about em." 

******************************************

AN the second:

I realize, of course, that this is all hopelessly complicated. It may seem to you that I have three, possibly four distinct storylines happening all at once, and keeping track of them may well be giving you a migraine. I know it gives me one. But, I assure you, it all ends up in the same place. Not that I have the genius of Dickens behind me here, nothing brilliant like that, just that I truly _am _going somewhere with this. 

Anyhow, Dickens is one of those writers I never like while I'm reading but I finish the book and go, "well, wasn't that clever."

That was oddly off topic, wasn't it?

Right. So I've had this story in my head since the next-to-last chapter of Relativity or so (a few details were not quite ironed out, but it's all good now, thanks to Sue's help!), so if you can bear with me, I'll try and make it as painless as possible ;)

One issue some people seem to be having is the lack of Rogue/JP time. There is a reason for that. I've not forgotten our favorite southern belle– I'm sure that JP would talk to her about his estrangement from JM, his worries over Pietro, etc. However, I have a lot of story to tell here, and I'm trying to economize as much as possible without compromising myself on the "storytelling" thing. Because I really don't want this to last 80 chapters just because I want to talk about every character in Evo. Even though I do. I always have reasons, and usually a lot of them, for the scenes I choose to write, and for the things I let happen off-panel. And Rogue just isn't a main plot-forwarder at the moment.

Of course, now that I said that I'll feel an idiot, since the next chapter (or maybe it's the chapter after... the next three chapters are basically written already...) starts with Rogue/JP time... but the point is that I needed a _reason _for it, and I had a lot of other things to get to first. All in good time, my pretties. All in good time. 

I am, however, very pleased that there is a considered interest among those who are bothered to read this in Rogue. Because she'll get her chance, and it's good to know that it has a good shot at being well-recieved!

That explained, now for the shout outs.

_Risty: _HAHA! You said JP/Scott bondage! *ahem* That was _way _more amusing to me than it should've been. Don't give me ideas ;) You, ma chere, have done it. I cannot believe that you remembered the angel from the windows, because that was _exactly _what I was going for when I wrote that. I had this whole story planned when I wrote that bit with JM, and I already _knew_ Warren would be an integral part of the story. Yes, I also used that angel as a counterpart to the kinder, gentler one she saw in "Theology," but I had my other reasons. And holy Jesus, you picked up on it. You restore my faith in humanity. You've just made me so happy, you have no idea.

_TKD: _A minor Fuzzy fix, but it did me good to write it. And holy god... it is so my favorite challenge right now. Taekwandodo needs to love Warren! Well, you don't _need _to, but damn... he's Warren! Hope I didn't ruin the good start from the last chapter in this one...

_The Rogue Witch_: It doesn't sound dipshit at all! In fact, one of the biggest compliments I could ever get paid is for someone to say exactly what you did– "That is -so- JP." Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. Or maybe that's just some strange Kurt fantasy of mine... either way, thank you! I appreciate the compliment on the Scott/JP interaction to. I love to write them together for some reason. They're just so strange. But I suppose my affinity for weird relationships has been proven sufficiently by this time. And yes, I too like Lance. Though he's a nutcase, clearly... I guess I just like the "tough guy" thing. And really, he _does _take care of them. 

_cyberpilate: _Lovely to meet you! It is so kind of you to actually have me bookmarked, and that you check up to see if I've done anything lately. That, also, gives me a nice feeling. Yes, Alex being gay was quite an adjustment for many people. But I suppose the joy of writing Evo-verse is the freedom it allows. I'm sure quite a few people were doubting that I'd ever picked up a comic book in my life, when I pulled that out of the hat, but as you said, I had my reasons. That people would accept them as well enough, and continue reading, means a lot to me. Thank you for the words on the theme of the story as well, the relationships between siblings, and family in general (eventually, it'll come up...) I'm happy, and also surprised, that it interests others as much as it has interested me. I'm glad to know that you're reading, and thank you for letting me know what you think! 

_Caliente: _You too have picked up on me foreshadowing Angel's coming in HCT! Go you! I'm not saying if he ends up with JM... but it's pretty obvious by now that I at least wanted to try it, I suppose. The animal people is neither from AF or Avengers, per se. It's just a part of the Maximoff history thing, and I'm not sure where it was first shown. I have their story from the Marvel Saga books that came out in the early 80s. And the animal dudes showed up a lot in Quicksilver's own series, from the 90s. And pretty much any time you are dealing with the High Evolutionary. They're called the New Men. As for your masochistic tendencies... you and Pietro both, apparently. The little devil. Thanks for another highly entertaining, yet also helpful and intelligent review. How you manage that balance, I've no idea. But I'm grateful, just the same.

_Akuma no Tsubasa: _Yes, the Warren development fits in with where the story is going. Without question. In fact, it's super hella important, you will be pleased to note! More familial relationship exploration to come, that's a promise. I'm glad that you are entertained and/or intrigued by the theme of choice here. Nice to know that I'm not talking to a brick wall. And with excellent reviewers like you on the job, keeping me straight, I never feel that way. So thanks a million!

_Tonianne_: Hello, and nice to meet you ;) Hope this clears up a little bit about what's wrong with Pietro, though the reasons it's happening will have to wait for... er... lots more chapters later!

_crazyspaceystracey: _Too kind! I rock? Wooohooo! Scott talking to Alex might end up off-panel, might not. I'm still debating on how to sort it out, for the next chapter. But I'm certainly glad it's still enjoyable for you. Thanks for the reviews!

_Angharad: _JP and JM speaking to one another always makes me feel like something is right with the world. Nice to know I'm not the only one.

_UniversalAnimeGirl_: First off, thank you for the very helpful, very sweet review. I'm surprised that someone who doesn't much care for drugs, sex, or swearing can even stand to read my stories, but I'm definitely glad to hear it! The reason I use such things is because they are, at least as far as I've found in life, real. Sam wouldn't swear? Maybe not. But I'm careful to keep his use of it down to a minimum, and most of it is in his head, or to use the ones I think he'd be willing to blurt out. I wouldn't have him running around spouting f**k like Pietro and JP all the time. I knew very few boys at that age who wouldn't have at least _thought_ about swearing pretty often. But yeah, there were a few. (Actually _I _rarely swore until I got to high school. And you see what happened to that... *ahem.*) I'm glad that you are liking the Beaubiers– I clearly enjoy them. Perhaps a bit much, considering the extent of this obsessive writing I'm doing here. But it does me good to know that others are enjoying them as well, and it's very kind of you to take the time to write such a great review for me. Your insights on the Rogue/JP Kurt/JM thing were really wonderful, and you've definitely reminded me why I need to be careful about what scenes I write, and how I write them. People like you keep me honest, and on my toes. And I do love that in a person.

_S-Star: _I'm so glad the last one didn't seem disjointed, despite the many winding roads I'm trying to lead you down at the moment. I can only hope I can keep that up... do let me know when I stumble! I'm glad this one feel more grounded as well– Here Comes Trouble was a total suspension of reality fic. Not that any sci-fi, which I classify this as, isn't. But I want to deal with something real here. Thanks for the comments, and encouragement. 

_Taineyah:_ Thanks for the review?! Oh no, thank you for writing it. Yay Pietro-ness! I do hope that you uncover some good JP in your search through the BF's comic collections. Canon JP is... difficult. He's a bastard, but he has his reasons. Even more so than with the bit of his history I nicked for this Evo-verse. But like I had Scott say, when he's good, he's the best. But we all know I'm obsessed, so enough of that...

Ok, really. I'm done now. I promise. Sincerely -Beaubier-


	5. Affections and Disasters

Chapter Four: Affections and Disasters

Rogue walked through the clinical halls of Bayville High after the last bell, already breathing easier. Something about that final ring just set her soul free, every day. She looked to her right, where Jean-Paul walked next to her, already breaking out his sunglasses. If there was anyone who loved the final bell more than Rogue, it was probably JP. Whether it was because he hated school as much as she did, or because he couldn't wait to drive his car, she figured she'd never know. 

She scanned the hall as they walked straight down the middle, crowds actually parting for them at times. It was a combination of the fact that they were well-known Xavier kids, and therefore mutants, that Jean-Paul was already considered one of the "cool kids" in school, despite the fact that he ignored the rest of the "cool kids" implicitly, and that they were seniors. 

Nice to see that there were some perks.

She spotted Alex and Ray laughing near the door, probably waiting for Bobby and Roberto, and nodded to them as they walked outside into the bright autumn sunlight. They waved and shouted and Jean-Paul waved back to them, and stopped to say something or other to Alex. She waited, since he was her ride, and they kept walking their usual route in silence. 

One of the best things about hanging out with JP was that she didn't have to talk all the time, and he didn't either. They were both perfectly happy just being there, together. 

It made her wonder, for the thousandth time, how he could stand to be near motor-mouth Maximoff for such extended periods of time. But maybe Pietro was different, when you got him alone. Maybe he treated Jean-Paul differently, just like she knew JP treated him differently than anyone else. She'd heard that people acted completely different around someone they loved...

Not that she would know. No one had ever loved her that way, so she had no proof, in either direction.

Not that she needed to know, of course. She was just fine on her own... well, that was her story, anyhow. But it was funny, the way it made people act.

Point in case, as they came around the corner– Wanda Maximoff and Sam Guthrie. Wanda was leaning against the wall next to the blonde X-Kid, their heads leaning close, talking about something that looked quite involved. Wanda didn't look even mildly pissed off, like she usually did any time she was within a few miles of the school. She was just talking. Her usual "fuck with me and die" body language seemed to have evaporated entirely, and she even had her hand in the pocket of his jacket, like she was looking for something. 

But Wanda had been off lately. She and Rogue weren't that close, Wanda spent more time talking to Kitty than anyone else, oddly enough. Aside from Sam, of course, these days. But Rogue had math with "chick Maximoff," as Ray had referred to her just the other day, and this week Wanda had been even less communicative than usual. Normally they found plenty to bitch about together. But lately she'd just been so... down. She couldn't even seem to rant properly anymore. 

"Wanda hasn't been looking so good in school, JP," she mentioned, as they neared the parking lot. "Any idea what's up with her?"

He seemed to consider this, and bit at his lower lip for a moment. "You know... you're right. I've been so worried about Pietro... so that means they're _both _fucked up, at the moment."

Weird. "What about the rest of the Brotherhood?"

Jean-Paul shrugged, "I talked to Fred today in gym. He's fine. And Lance was as grouchy as ever last night when I was over. Todd barely comes out of his room when Wanda's around now, but I _think _he's ok..."

Poor guy. Todd was irritating, yeah. And, in the words of Scott, had the hygiene of a dead pig. But he had his good moments. She was having trouble recalling any, at the moment, but she knew he had _some_. But Wanda was just out of his league.

Of course, she was out of everyone's league. 

But still, she couldn't help but feel bad for Toad. "He real broken up over her and Sam?"

"I assume," he obviously didn't care one way or the other. 

"Poor guy."

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, and then re-assumed his thoughtful expression. 

"Anyhow," she changed the subject back, knowing damn well what he'd be thinking about. "That's kinda freaky, dontcha think? Pietro and Wanda both getting sick at the same time?"

He shook his head, "If it were sickness, I'd say yes. But Pietro swears that he just can't sleep. I've _put _him to sleep three nights running, in fact."

She felt her nose wrinkle up, but grinned at him anyhow. As irritating as she found Pietro... he and Jean-Paul were bordering on... cute together, at times. Their stupid arguments, how they were constantly picking at each other, flirting like little boys– the way they touched each other all the time, Jean-Paul would adjust Pietro's hair or Pietro would hook his finger into Jean-Paul's belt loop, like they didn't even realize what they were doing. Little things she'd probably never understand. It would've made her heart hurt, if it hadn't been _Pietro_. She'd never _say _that she thought they were cute, of course, because it'd stop immediately. But she could think it, anyhow. "I don't even wanna know, unless you knocked him out."

"No," he rolled his eyes, "Just gave him a back rub. He's easy. But he always comes to school the next day just as fucked up. I think he's having nightmares."

"Well then, maybe it's just a coincidence?"

"Jeanne-Marie has had nightmares that wake me up," he mused.

No way, couldn't be. "You two are freaky, that's why. Wanda and Pietro aren't psi, JP. It's just not possible."

He sighed, heavily, as they came up on his car, where Kurt and Kitty were leaning against the M5, reading Cosmopolitan and laughing aloud. "I don't know... I just have a feeling."

"Freaky twin feeling?" She laughed.

"Something like that," he answered. But his ponderous mood seemed to lift all at once, and he grinned at her suddenly. He stopped walking, nodding at the car where Kurt and Kitty stood, obviously not having noticed them coming. 

She cocked her head at him, curious as to what he was up to.

He pulled out his keys, and raised his eyebrows once, then hit the red button on the keychain.

The two mutants leaning on his car screamed as one and jumped into the air, clutching at each other in fear, as the alarm went blaring. The magazine dropped to the ground and they both looked around, wide eyed, and saw Jean-Paul and Rogue laughing at them. JP, blessedly, hit the panic button again and turned the alarm off.

Rogue leaned on him heavily, laughing hard, and Kitty ran over and started beating on him instantly, shrieking in protest. He laughed and let her hit him as much as she wanted.

Kurt just leaned back on the car and sighed. "Oh man, don't do that to me. I almost had to change my shorts." 

Kitty wrinkled up her nose, and started hitting Kurt instead.

* * *

Jeanne-Marie stared into her closet. She was supposed to be figuring out what to wear tonight, when she had dinner with Warren Worthington. But she was having difficulty concentrating on the clothes, rather than concentrating on Warren himself. 

Her history test had been a complete disaster, even though she and Jean-Paul had studied for it non-stop. Wanda had claimed that she'd failed as well, but Jean-Paul had only rolled his eyes at them and said it was easy. But she really couldn't wait to see him tonight. To go to his house, to have a real date. She'd never had a real date with Roberto, though they went to the movies a few times. She wanted it to be perfect, like a fairy tale.

It was stupid, of course. She knew that. It was just dinner.

She sighed into the closet and shook her head, "I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"Can't say I blame you, JM," Kitty replied from somewhere behind her in the room, "Angel is pretty damn cute."

"I don't even know him," She pulled out a light blue cashmere sweater and held it up against her, then turned to look in the mirror on the inside of her closet door. It was a good color, she decided. Matched her eyes. "Is this one alright?"

"You don't know him," Kurt agreed, who was sitting beside Kitty on the bed. They'd both come upstairs after school to help her pick what she wanted to wear.

Correction, Kitty had come upstairs for that. Kurt had wandered in to ask questions about Algebra, since he couldn't find Bobby anywhere, and had ended up being dragged into the whole scene as their "male panelist." 

"But that's the point of a date, right?" The fuzzy elf continued, "To get to know someone?"

"That looks great JM, put it on and lets see," Kitty agreed, reaching up to cover Kurt's eyes.

Jeanne-Marie glanced sideways, to make sure her hand was covering enough, and then pulled her shirt over her head and slid the sweater on. "I suppose you're right, Kurt. I'm just so excited... I feel like a little girl."

"Wow, you must really like him," Kitty uncovered Kurt's eyes and nodded at her. "That's perfect. Wear that one."

"_Ja, _looks great. Can I go now?"

"No," Jeanne-Marie told him, pointing at him dangerously, "I still need to pick my pants. Don't move a muscle, elf-boy."

Kurt sighed, feigning irritation, but obviously not too bothered by being locked into a room with two pretty girls, one of whom was changing her clothes repeatedly.

Jeanne-Marie didn't mind. She was too fixated on her mission of the moment to think about it much. But she felt _nervous_. And she never felt nervous around boys. She _hadn't _felt nervous around Warren, either, until he'd asked her out. Jean-Paul had been eyeing her as early as homeroom today, commenting that she must really like this Angel, to be so nervous. 

She thought she did. But it was stupid. She didn't even know him!

Right? 

* * *

Jean tried not to look irritated as she got up to answer the knock on her door. Her roommate, a very nice girl from Ohio called Tara, was out, and it was probably one of her droves of friends. They always came over on Friday nights to watch some show or other.

Jean liked her roommate, and her roommate's friends. But she was usually at Xavier's on the weekends, so she didn't really hang out with or get to know any of them too well.

This weekend she was staying in the dorms, however, since next week was the first really difficult week since she'd started at the school. She had two tests, one of which was going to require extensive essay writing, the other in which she'd be expected to produce an experiment out of thin air, to the satisfaction of one of the most frighteningly brilliant professors on campus. 

The Professor had agreed that she'd better stay at school, to be free of the distractions and responsibilities that would face her at the Institute. 

But apparently, distraction was everywhere. She reached the door, plastered with one of Tara's many "hot guy" posters, and took a deep breath before pulling it open. No need to snap at whoever it was, just because she had about two weeks of studying to do in two days...

She pulled it open... and stared. 

"Scott... what are you doing here?"

Her boyfriend raised an eyebrow at her, smiling despite her strange greeting, and replied, "Classes are over for the day, and the Professor mentioned that there was some kind of trouble yesterday here at school... thought I'd swing by, see how you were doing."

At first, she had no idea what he was talking about. But oh, yes, her physical anth class, of course. Andy Rasz and his idiocy. "It was nothing. Just some kids mutant-bashing. I took care of it."

He kept smiling, but something felt off. She couldn't decide quite what it was, but he didn't seem... all there. Something forced, between them. 

It made her stomach hurt, vaguely.

"I know you can, Jean," he was saying now, "Just thought it was a great excuse to come and bother you, is all. If you're busy, I can go, I told Warren I would–,"

"No," she suddenly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, realizing that she hadn't even given him a hug when he'd turned up. God, what was wrong with her these days? So many things, racing through her mind. This was _Scott_. "It's good to see you," she assured him, as he returned the gesture and put his arms around her waist and relaxed into her. She leaned her head on his broad shoulder for just a moment, breathed deeply, smelled that familiar mix of dryer sheet and aftershave that was so quintessential _Scott _in her mind, and tried to forget everything else. Because honestly, it _was _good to see him. Even if things felt a little... off. She pulled back, after a moment, and he kept a hold on one of her hands, letting the other drop to her side. "Let's go get a smoothie at the union," she offered, turning to pull her door shut, "And you can tell me about what's happening at the Institute. I'll be missing everyone this weekend."

"They'll miss you too," he offered, as she locked the door behind her, then started leading him down the dark hallways of the dorm. "And things are good. I finally talked to Alex, did I tell you? I managed to convince him that I don't think he's a freak. And JP retracted his death threat."

The Alex part, she was happy to hear. Scott was understandably taken by surprise when his brother had come out to him, and to be honest, Jean was taken by surprise when he'd told her about it too. But she knew he'd felt horrible about his reaction. And Scott was not the best at communicating emotions, so she was particularly glad to hear that he'd managed to straighten things out on his own. But... "Why would JP threaten to kill you?"

"Oh god, Jean, didn't I tell you about the talk we had?" He shook his head, and seemed to be thinking hard about it.

Scott wasn't usually that difficult to understand, no matter how much he chained up his emotions to keep them from getting away from him. But his friendship with Jean-Paul, who she considered to be an insufferable prig, she would never understand. Logically, the two should hate each other. She trusted him as a teammate, and an X-Man, but personally, JP was an arrogant, preening juvenile delinquent, who treated his sister like she was five years old, and Scott was a stand-up, in charge, sweetheart of a man, who did his best to respect and appreciate everyone. One of them had to be a bad influence on the other, and she dreaded the idea that Scott would pick anything up from that cocky Québécois. And their little "talks," for some reason, were all too frequent, in her mind. "No, I would've remembered."

They'd reached the door by this time, and stepped out into the chilly early evening air. Winter was now closer than summer, and the days were getting shorter and shorter. Jean silently congratulated herself on remembering to wear a thick wool sweater today, even if she hadn't had the sense to pick up a coat on her way out. She started leading him toward the union, about a block or so away, as he said, "Damn, that was a few days ago. I can't believe I didn't tell you this, it was hilarious..."

Yes. Ha-ha, isn't Jean-Paul acting like an asshole and threatening to kill you for the umpteenth time hilarious. "_Why _did he do it Scott?"

"Oh, he noticed that I was avoiding him, and talked to Alex eventually, figured out that I was avoiding both of them."

"Why did you avoid Jean-Paul again?"

He shot her a sidelong glance, under those ruby shades. "Cause he was the one Alex went to..."

What, she was supposed to know that? 

Ok. She was being irritable, and she knew it. So she smiled at him, and instead said, "I guess I'm just not up on things like I should be."

He looked straight ahead now, and his brow furrowed, giving him that thoughtful hero face she loved to look at so much. "No. I'm sorry, Jean. I should've told you..."

She considered for a moment, using just the very smallest bit of her lesser psychic abilities to feel him out. Not to listen to his thoughts, just to sense the psychic vibrations around him, to catch his mood. And she found that he was extremely upset. Not necessarily with her, she couldn't tell that much without looking closer, but upset nevertheless. Probably, she realized, at the thought of Alex coming to Jean-Paul instead of him.

God, it had _really _bothered him. And he hadn't said a word to her about it... 

Suddenly, she felt horrible. "No, it's ok, Scott. I got a little wrapped up in Warren's business, but now that's done, so I only get to see him at the Institute–," she stopped, suddenly, and felt her stomach drop. Oh no. She _really _could've phrased that better... _I only _get _to see him_? She felt her cheeks flushing, and looked down so that her long hair would cover it up. "I mean, to work on things."

She didn't have to look up at him to know that he was watching her. And she felt his hand twitch, just a little, in hers. She imagined that it was him wondering if he should be holding her hand at all. 

Hyperactive imagination. That's what she told herself.

"Right," was all he said. "Well, I told him I might stop by if I can get there before six. He's picking JM up at seven–,"

"JM?" She looked up suddenly, confused. Why would Warren be picking JM up? Unless...

Jean swallowed hard, and looked straight ahead. Trying not to think about why her stomach suddenly went numb inside of her. 

"Yeah, their first date," Scott didn't even notice, he just started smiling again. She didn't have to look at him, she could hear it in his voice. "I thought she would've told you, she's been floating around the house singing, practically, since he asked her the other day."

"I...," She stuttered, having an extremely difficult time processing and dealing with the stomach-clenching combination of jealousy, anger, and guilt that was raging through her at the moment, "I guess we haven't talked much lately."

Scott was looking at her. She could feel him looking at her, as they turned to go up the stairs to the front door of the union. And she couldn't look back.

It was stupid. Silly. Childish. She didn't even _know _Warren, and she loved Scott. He was the perfect guy! Warren was just a distraction, something to look at, something she'd become fascinated with because the distance between her and Scott was starting to eat at her, and she knew it was eating at him, but they couldn't talk about it because... because...

She couldn't think about it. It made her numb. 

"You guys used to be best friends," He observed, quietly.

Jean took another hard swallow and a deep breath she hoped was silent, and said, "Yeah. We used to."

* * *

Scott was hopelessly confused, and only halfway through his smoothie, when he made it to Warren's penthouse downtown.

He had no idea what the hell had just happened with that half-hour visit to Jean, but he did know that he was damn glad it was over. And while Warren Worthington really wasn't the first person he wanted to see, considering that he was almost positive that Jean's words, not to mention her stunned, red-faced reaction to the news of JM's first date with him tonight, meant that she had some kind of... _thing_ for Angel, he had promised to come by and help him out with his preparations for the evening. Warren didn't really have any friends, at least, not that he still saw regularly, as far as Scott could tell. So he'd offered to come and help with dinner as a sort of extension of friendship, maybe bring the guy in closer, let him feel more comfortable hanging out a Xavier's since he was probably going to be there a lot more.

It occurred to him that right now that should be the last thing on his mind, when it came to Angel.

But he couldn't really bring himself to be angry. Not at Jean, and not at Warren. First of all, he knew Jean well enough to realize that she would never cheat on him, even if they were having problems. And hell, he definitely _looked _at other girls when she was away. Never developed a crush... but considering their unspoken issues lately... it was kind of understandable. Hell, he hadn't even told her that he was upset about Alex going to Jean-Paul with his problems before him. That had _really_ upset him, and still kind of did, even though things were squared away with the kid now... the fact that he hadn't even thought to tell his girlfriend about it spoke volumes about how they were drifting apart lately. 

And Warren was spending a lot of time with her. He was rich, smart, handsome. What was it Jean-Paul had called him? _Ridiculously gorgeous?_ Scott had to admit, it was true. Irritating, yeah, but true. That was nothing to get angry about either, especially considering that Warren was even less smooth than he was when it came to women. Scott had seen him trying to talk to JM, trying to act casual. Even he could see that the winged boy was just... _bad _at it. And Angel was so obviously smitten with Jeanne-Marie, Scott seriously doubted that he had room in his head to think about Jean as much more than a business associate at this point.

So really, what was there to be angry about? 

As the elevator opened, and Scott entered the top floor of the Worthington Tower, sipping at his strawberry smoothie, he realized that he was being too logical about this- to a fault, possibly.

And he wasn't quite sure if that was a good sign... or a bad one.

He walked down the hall and rang the bell on Warren's door, strangely calm, and waited. He tried to consider his position in this whole mess. Tried to think about why it wasn't bothering him the way he thought it should be bothering him that he and Jean Grey, the girl of his dreams, his angel, were suddenly forgetting about each other. 

But he didn't come up with an answer before the door swung open, and he was greeted by a smiling, if somewhat breathless Angel of a different sort. "Hey fearless leader."

Amused, Scott raised an eyebrow at him. Now that wasn't the greeting he'd expected from the normally sober and withdrawn Warren Worthington. He must've been as excited as JM was. "You been talking to Jean-Paul?"

Warren stepped backward, and gestured for him to come inside, then closed the door behind him as he did so. "JM calls you that too. Everyone does, in fact. JP is just the only one who says it to your face."

Entering into the high-ceilinged, well-appointed apartment, Scott actually found himself smiling. "Sounds like JP. Him and Kurt." But when he took a few more steps in, he smelled something... decidedly charred. "Is something on fire?"

The million-dollar smile on the other boy's face suddenly turned almost sheepish, as he confessed, "Well... not anymore. I've never really... _cooked _before. Nothing but pasta."

Scott gestured for him to lead the way to the kitchen, laughing quietly. He should've expected that Worthington wouldn't know how to cook. Amazing that someone with so much personality, charisma, intelligence, and good looks could be so... clueless sometimes. Not that Scott wasn't every now and then– he'd made that abundantly clear to himself in the past few weeks. But damn. Rich kids... a strange breed. "Good thing my visit with Jean was a bust, Warren, or you'd be in big trouble."

Warren laughed at him, but threw a glance over his shoulder, over his wings, that made it obvious that he wanted to ask about Jean. Whatever kept him quiet about it Scott was thankful for, however. The confusion over what had just happened, and why he was being so logical about it, had still not lifted from his brain. He went immediately to the fridge, once he caught sight of it, and stuck his head inside, in search of something useful. "You're in a good mood tonight," he pulled open the crisper and found a half a head of lettuce, a bag of really old looking carrots, and a few zucchini that still looked pretty good. 

"Yes," the other boy admitted, from behind him, "Nervous, but yeah."

Scott stood up and tossed him the zucchini, then went to rummage through what looked like the main pantry for other ingredients. "JM is a sweet girl," he told him, as he searched. "Aurora will lead you around by the nose, if you let her, but she's a lot of fun. Interesting, anyhow, both of the Beaubiers."

"Yeah," Warren agreed. There was a slight pause while Scott was amazed at the volume of useless junk in Warren's pantry– mostly really old snack food, the guy obviously ordered in five days a week– and then the blonde boy cleared his throat, and started talking again. "So, I had no idea that you and Jean were dating."

Scott furrowed his brow, and bit down on his lip, but found the cooking oil. "Do you have any pasta?"

"In the tall cupboard, next to that one. Sauce is next to it. Pasta, I'm good with."

Scott pulled out the flour and oil, set them on the counter, and started digging through the cabinet he'd been directed to. Sure enough, there were boxes of the stuff. And some really nice sauce to go with it. Perfect. "Cut up that zucchini, pretty thin" he told Warren, as he dumped his new ingredients onto the counter, and started pouring flour out into a mixing bowl. Once the vegetables were cut up, he'd have Warren dip them in flour, then fry them up. That'd be nice with some pasta. Easy, but good. Man cooking, as Logan referred to it. Scott hated to give in to the stereotype, but in this case, it might just be appropriate. "Yeah," he finally answered, after he'd poured out the flour next to Warren, and had moved on to finding a frying pan. "We're dating."

"She never said a word," Warren was saying, as he started slicing. 

Scott was strangely unaffected by that statement. Whether because Warren had uttered it in such a totally guileless, almost bewildered tone of voice, or because he really didn't care, Scott had no idea. "I'm sure...," he answered, perhaps a bit too obviously dryly.

The chopping noises stopped now, and when Scott looked over, the blonde boy was looking directly at him. Mildly shocked, it seemed. "Scott, I didn't–,"

"I know you didn't Warren," He held up a hand, and smiled. It wasn't his fault, after all. It wasn't Jean's either, probably. It might've been his, but he wasn't sure if he cared. He just felt... like it was a dream. Like none of it was true. Maybe he'd never even been with Jean in the first place, really. Maybe this was all a dream to show him what a bad idea their relationship really was, and how they both had too much to deal with in their own lives to worry about each others'...

God. That sounded bad, even in his head.

But... wasn't it true?

"I've seen you with JM," he continued, as Warren started his slicing process again, "You're worse than me."

Warren laughed at this, low and oddly restrained, as usual, and looked up at him again, "Thanks, Slim– ow!" 

The winged boy jumped, and dropped the knife, looking down at his finger with obvious irritation.

"Don't bleed in that," Scott pointed to the bowl of flour, as he pulled out a frying pan and a pot to cook the pasta in, "it's our breading."

"Hell, that hurt," Warren put his finger tip to his lips, and sucked for a minute, then looked back at him. "She didn't flirt either."

Scott let a small sigh escape him, "I know. She wouldn't. Forget it, man."

Eyeing the knife for a moment, then reaching down gingerly to pick it back up, Warren said, "You sound like you're... over it."

Over it. Over Jean? Over their relationship? Over trying to put in more energy than she was to keep the lines of communication open?

Yeah. Maybe he was, actually. "Just sorta... went cold, you know?" He admitted, as he turned the idea over in his mind. Over it.

"That happened to me once," Warren mused, voice quiet and deep, like he was very far away. "I was fourteen."

"What did you do?" Scott asked, running water into the pot, so he could start the pasta while Warren hacked away at himself. Actually, maybe talking about it _wasn't _such a bad idea. Things were starting to make a little more sense, now that he'd been forced to give them words. Almost like the action of admitting to things gave those things some kind of tangibility.

That was useful. Could come in handy during the next team meeting, working on strategy. Perhaps if he _said _the ideas he had, even the half-baked ones which he never spoke of until they were finished, usually, they would start to take shape...

"Sprouted wings, got myself kicked out of school and sent home, and never saw her again," came the bemused answer, cutting into Scott's train of thought.

Funny, how Warren seemed to grow a sense of humor once you got him alone. He seemed awfully serious, sometimes, but really... he was alright under there. A really good guy, all around. And if he was spoiled, at least he was a good sport about it.

"Convenient," Scott shrugged, with a grin. If only things would be that easy for him... 

The other boy looked over at him now, and raised one golden eyebrow questioningly. "You're in a hell of a mood, if you don't mind my saying."

"So are you."

"Point taken."

* * *

Warren was, as they said, wired, by the time he finally got Jeanne-Marie back to his place. 

Dinner was ready, warm in the stove, except for the pasta, which he'd start right then, so that it would be perfect and ready in fifteen minutes. Scott had really saved him on that one.

Particularly considering that he seemed to think that Jean had some kind of crush on Warren. It was obvious, from the way Scott had responded to his questions, that he had his suspicions.

It was ludicrous, of course. Jean had never made any sort of advance on him. He definitely would have noticed, and she definitely hadn't. 

Which was good, because he didn't think that starting something with Jean, Scott or no Scott, would've been a good idea, considering the fact that he became obsessed with Jeanne-Marie Beaubier at first sight. That really would have added in complications that he didn't want to consider. He felt ridiculous enough, falling all over himself as he was, without adding insult to injury.

But good god, she was beautiful. Jeanne-Marie had on a slightly fuzzy, soft-looking sweater that hugged her just tight enough in all the right places to make him wish he could reach out and touch it. He knew she was wearing make up, he figured she usually did, but he really couldn't tell where it might be. She was just so pale and perfect. Long black hair, shining all the way down to the middle of her back, that single streak of silver highlighting the light of her eyes against it. Such a fine face, such delicate, high cheek bones, such smooth skin. 

He could stare at her all night, and still never get enough. 

And thoughts like that were precisely why he felt a complete fool. 

But he honestly could not help it. Not that he'd never seen a beautiful woman. Not that he'd never had a date or two. Sometimes, his parents had fixed him up with family friends– usually heiresses with more money than sense, or the personality of a hairbrush. Of course, some of them had been interesting enough. For one night. But really, he was lucky he'd never taken more interest in one of them. Not as if he could ever get close to any one of them, after all, if he did. A good, long hug was all it would take for them to notice that something about Warren Worthington was not quite... _right_.

And he lived in fear of it. It kept him from turning on the charm he used to have with girls when he was younger. He hadn't tried, really tried to use it since his wings had grown in. And it seemed like it was lost to him now, as he showed Jeanne-Marie– beautiful, confident, laughing Jeanne-Marie– to his door. 

He opened it for her, and let her step inside first, then slipped in behind her, closed it, and took her coat off her shoulders, with a little help from her. "Your home is beautiful, Warren," she was looking around, and her voice held a small note of awe in it.

Hanging up her coat, he felt himself smiling again. Like he had been the entire way home with her in the car. "Thank you, but it's not really mine. Nothing here is, in fact. It's my family's."

She turned to look at him and smiled. And lit up the entire room, as far as he was concerned. "When you're family, you share."

"Even Jean-Paul?" He asked, leading her into the kitchen so he could start the water boiling. Scott had also warned him, while they'd worked on dinner together earlier, that he'd better watch himself around JM's notoriously volatile brother. But JP hadn't given him so much as a sidelong glance since he'd asked Jeanne-Marie out, so Warren wasn't really that concerned. Maybe he'd gotten lucky, but he honestly couldn't imagine that things were as bad for Roberto DaCosta as the people at the Institute made them out to be.

Really, how bad could a protective twin brother be?

Jeanne-Marie nodded at him from the doorway as he started the water on the boil, "I know he sounds harsh, the way people talk about him. But he does love me very much. And he spoils me. But we are still getting used to each other."

"I always wanted a brother or sister," Warren admitted, surprising himself with the confession. 

He wasn't used to talking to someone without considering every word, and whether or not it exposed him as a mutant, or a bad representative for his family, or an unworthy future CEO...

God, having her around was nice. 

She came into the kitchen and leaned against the wall for a moment, just looking at him. After a moment, she said, very quietly, "Me too."

It occurred to him, a little too late, he realized, that discussing the past might not be the best idea with her. Not yet, if ever. If he thought he had problems, what little he knew about her history made his story look like a walk in the park. His heart started to beat a little faster, and he unconsciously ruffled his wings, just a bit, with a sudden rush of nervous energy. "Well, Scott stopped over, and I have to admit, dinner is thanks to him. I ruined my first attempt," he gestured toward the island in the middle of the kitchen, where there were stools to sit on. For dinner, of course, they would go out to the dining room. He had it all set up very nicely. But since he needed to finish the pasta, might as well sit down here. Maybe... some wine? Was that what he was supposed to offer her? 

"It's ok," she laughed, following his unspoken suggestion and moving to one of the stools, then settling herself in on it and leaning one elbow on the counter top fetchingly. "I don't know how to cook either, so I can understand. Jamie Madrox taught me how to make cookies, you know."

If he was remembering correctly, Jamie Madrox was the little guy around Xavier's, the kid who multiplied himself by ten every time he got knocked around a little. 

The idea of JM in the kitchen with a dozen 13 year old little boy helpers made him laugh, as he moved over to the wine rack to examine what he'd brought from the cellar last time he'd been at the house. "Cute. Do you want a glass of wine?"

"Please."

He wanted red, with what they were having, that much he knew. He pulled a few out, and eventually settled on his favorite. "Merlot alright?"

She laughed, this time sounding a little bit freer than before. As if she was making herself comfortable.

Good. That was exactly what he wanted. Just her, being herself. It was one thing for him to be nervous– he _always _felt nervous around her. But he didn't want that for her. Not that she _was _nervous, maybe a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing, that was all. Not as if _he _could make someone like _her _feel nervous.

"I don't really know the difference," she was still laughing. "But if it's red, I will probably like it. I didn't know you were twenty-one."

He grinned at her, and went to find the cork screw. "I'm not. But we always have it around. It was never a big deal, growing up. I just take it from the cellar at the house."

"I'm not twenty-one either," her voice changed suddenly, and the only word he could think of to describe it was... coy. "But my ID says I am."

He stopped his progress with the wine bottle, and just looked at her for a moment. She was sitting there, one hand propping her head up, under her chin, grinning at him. And he could do nothing but shake his head. Because god, she was beautiful. "You're a terribly interesting girl, Jeanne-Marie."

"You don't know me very well," she pointed out, arching one of her already upswept eyebrows at him, almost playfully. _Now _she was getting comfortable. This was how she usually behaved around him, flirtatious and fascinating. "What if you get to know me and I turn out to be really very boring?"

He went back to work on the cork, and replied, "No, I don't know you, but I already think that you're interesting. It's not a bad start. And I really doubt that you could ever be boring."

"Warren," she started, voice lowering a little, becoming just a touch more serious. "I know it's not an appropriate question to ask... but why me? All the girls love you. My brother even admits that you are quite possibly perfect, and he is the pickiest person I know. You're smart, you have a life, a big company to run..."

Trying to hide the ridiculous grin that he felt appearing on his face, Warren turned his back to her and busied himself taking down two of the large, fat red wine glasses hanging from his cupboard, and pouring two glasses of the burgundy stuff for them. "I don't...," he started, wanting to give her an answer, but uncertain that he could trust himself to do so, at this point. He felt so... giddy around her. So bloody stupid. But... he _liked _it. "I don't feel self-conscious with you," he decided was a safe enough answer. "I don't know why, we've only spoken a few times, and I know it's odd," he turned back around, face now composed, and brought the glasses to the table, sliding one over to her and sniffing at his own carefully. "But the truth is, that you... make it easy."

For a moment, she just looked at him again, big blue eyes saying a million things he couldn't begin to understand. He didn't know what it was she thought about, when she looked like that. But he would've given an awful lot to find out. Finally, she spoke. "I think that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Oddly embarrassed, but unwilling to show it, he looked down into his glass, and took a drink, then rolled it around longer than necessary to give himself recovery time. 

Luckily, it really was quite good, so he didn't mind too much.

"I find that hard to believe," he finally told her, honestly.

She only smiled, sweetly, and took a sip of her own wine. When she'd swallowed, she nodded at him, "It's good. So tell me something about yourself, Warren."

Something about himself. My name is Warren Worthington the third, I live alone, hide from my own family, am expected to take over as CEO of one of the largest companies in the United States in five or so years, I have wings coming out of my back, I'm a mutant and a freak...

No. Come on, man, you can do better than that. "What do you want to know?"

She considered for a moment, then asked, "What about school? Why aren't you in college?"

There. Now that, he could answer safely. "I thought about it. But I was at boarding school for years, as a kid, and I figure college, if I lived there, would really just be the same kind of thing. Not exactly ideal for a guy with my kind of mutation."

Funny, how it didn't really hurt to say it, when he said it to her. She just nodded, and kept looking him in the eye, steadily. As if what he was saying was actually interesting.

"And things have really gotten a little crazy lately, so I haven't bothered trying to be a commuter," he continued, when she gave no sign of wanting to speak. "I mean, I spent all this time thinking I was alone– you know, some kind of... freak or something. I'm just starting to remember what it's like to... be human again, I guess. Thanks to your friends, anyhow. The X-Men have helped me out a lot, and I've tried to help them when they asked, but they're pretty much the only people I've spoken to at length in awhile. Having Jean in and out all week is the most company I've had in years. The idea of throwing myself into college right away...,"

Oh god... said too much.

That was the problem, he guessed, with never talking to anyone. Once you finally find someone to talk to, you go and make an idiot of yourself–

But she was nodding still, eyes very sincere, "Scary, _oui_."

He gave a half-hearted smile, mostly out of gratitude. "Pretty much, yeah."

"But you're good with people," she sipped at her wine again, then cocked her head at him, curiously. "A little shy at first, but it's charming. You would have no trouble."

"Easier said than done," he felt his smile growing rueful. He didn't mean to sound bitter, but... really, it was true. 

"It always is," she agreed.

"What about you?" He tried not to jump to eagerly at the chance to change the subject off of himself. "You'll graduate soon, what will you do?"

"I haven't really thought about it yet," she told him, absently tracing the rim of her glass with her index finger, as if she had no idea she was doing it at all. A strangely enchanting, absent kind of action. "I know that I should apply now, if I want to go to school... but... I was raised in a school, did you know?"

"I heard a little," he admitted. 

"An orphanage school," she elaborated for him. "For girls, in Quebec. I never knew my brother until a few months ago."

He nodded, surprised that she would bring it up. Surely it was rather a touchy subject... but then, things always seemed easier for her. Communications-wise. Maybe she liked to talk about things. "Yes, Scott mentioned that, when you first came to the Institute."

"The school was awful," she leaned in over her glass now, suddenly speaking in a low, playfully conspiratorial voice. "Bayville High is much better, of course, but... I suppose I just need a break. I have my brother, my powers, the X-Men all to consider. I have personal things to work on first."

That, Warren could definitely understand. "Don't we all."

She only smiled at him, and sipped at her drink some more.

* * *

"So you're really not mad about Jeanne-Marie and Warren huh?"

Jean-Paul looked over at Pietro, next to him on the couch, with mild annoyance. "No, of course not. He seems alright. A bit spoiled, but I suppose it's not his fault that he's rich."

"It's your fault that you are."

He shrugged, and looked back to the television, "True. But it's hardly the same."

"_Pietro_!" Came a sudden rumbling, better known as Wanda Maximoff, from up the stairs. "You didn't _clean the bathroom!"_

Pietro wrinkled up his nose, and sighed. "Youdoit!"

The heavy footfalls of Wanda's boots were coming down the stairs now, however, and her brother was starting to look around for some place to hide. Jean-Paul, used to this game by now, just smirked. He knew how this would end, but it never stopped amusing him to watch it unfold. Every time, Pietro tried to squirm his way out of something, and every time Wanda got her way. 

Something about sisters. Jeanne-Marie did it by smiling. Wanda did it by yelling, possibly hexing. But they always ended up getting whatever they wanted, somehow. 

"It's _your _turn," she was growling, as she came into the room. "It takes you five seconds, you shit. I did it last week, Lance did it the week before. I want to take a _bath_."

Pietro rolled his eyes at his irate sister, but stood up, anyhow. Wisely. "FinefineI'llberightback."

Jean-Paul sped himself up, just so he could watch Pietro disappear around her, and then looked back to Wanda. 

She rolled her eyes at where her brother had been, but didn't move. She just stood there, hands on hips, staring. And, Jean-Paul realized, she _did _look bad. Not bad, per se. Wanda would have to go through a serious change of face and body to ever look _bad_. But she looked tired. And she was clearly staring into space, as if she'd forgotten why she'd come downstairs, which was entirely out of character for the girl. Particularly considering that she'd come downstairs fired up on a mission to hex.

"Wanda?" He ventured, waving at her from the couch.

She looked up, with tired, cobalt eyes, and blinked slowly. Like her eyelids were too heavy to work properly. 

Rogue had been right. Wanda was, indeed, in the same boat Pietro was in. No question about it. Hard to believe that he hadn't noticed, considering the amount of time he spent at this house, the fact that he usually ate lunch sitting across from her, and that he did consider her a friend. But he'd been worried lately. Very worried. 

First Jeanne-Marie not speaking to him, then immediately starting to chase after Worthington. It was all too fast for his taste, although he told himself that he would not say a word against it until he was certain there was good reason– those two weeks of her shutting him out still smarted, and he had to admit, after Rogue had dressed him down for it and made him "see reason," it had been partially his fault. So he was resolved to try and be more understanding, to just be there for her, as she had asked him to on more than one occasion with Roberto. He couldn't make any promises, of course. But he did want to try.

Then those daft Summers boys, and why he gave a shit about their relationship he couldn't imagine. At least, he wished he didn't. In reality, he knew all too well what it was like to have a disapproving sibling, in Alex's situation. Jeanne-Marie was _tolerant_, but at times, particularly when she was more Jeanne-Marie than Aurora (although he had to admit, she'd been surprisingly stable lately), he could have sworn that she didn't approve– not only of Pietro, but of the fact that he was gay. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't give a fuck, but her... Either way, Alex was lucky that Scott was not actually disapproving at all. The very idea that Scott had let his little brother think that he was disapproving, even if it wasn't the truth, irritated the hell out of Jean-Paul. He really ought to know better, that idiot boy scout. 

And then this whole mess with Pietro, whom he had been trying to coax into telling him just what was wrong without slamming him up against any more walls. Despite his best friend's protestations that he was just stressed over trivialities and not sleeping well because of it, Jean-Paul wasn't convinced. And, much to his dismay, Pietro only seemed to be getting worse. Every night it was the same– Pietro asked him to come over, wanted him to stay much later than he should have, and couldn't fall asleep. Jean-Paul left him eventually– he could get away with sleeping over on weekends, but Mr. Logan kept watch for any stragglers, usually, and would no doubt have his ass if he tried to pull it on a week night. 

At least, that was his excuse. Honestly, he would've been willing to deal with Logan berating him on occasion– he got it fairly often for pulling some stunt in the Danger Room, after all. But he wasn't sure that spending every night just _sleeping _next to Pietro Maximoff would be such a good idea. That implied all sorts of complicated things that he wasn't really willing to consider, at the moment. But as things got scarier and scarier with Pietro, he found himself getting more and more afraid for his friend. He couldn't deny that he cared a great deal about him. But he couldn't imagine, wouldn't imagine, what it might mean.

"Come and sit with me while you wait for him," he told her, patting the couch next to him.

She drew her dark eyebrows down, but complied with his request, coming to his side and sitting down with a rather long sigh. 

"You're sick?" he asked, nonchalantly. But he didn't feel so nonchalant about it. He knew, just _knew _somehow, that if both of them were having the same issues with sleep, it meant something bad. Maybe Rogue was right, maybe it was a "freaky twin feeling." He realized that the Maximoffs were nothing like he and Jeanne-Marie, when it came to being so closely linked, both psychically and physically. But they were entirely _too _linked for it to be coincidence. And they obviously hadn't even noticed that anything was the matter with the other, they were so wrapped up in being tired themselves. 

She shrugged, and leaned on him a bit, a warm weight on his arm. "No. Just tired."

"Nightmares?"

Sharply, she looked up at him, and sat a little straighter. "Why would you think that?"

Still feigning nonchalance, he told her, "Pietro is having nightmares, I think. He can't sleep."

Her full red lips thinned out, and she began chewing at the inside of her cheek, like she always did when she was deep in thought. "He looks alright..."

"He looks like shit," He informed her. "For Pietro, anyhow. Maybe you two should talk about it."

She rolled her eyes, now back to her usual sarcastically bored expression, and elbowed him once for good measure. "Yeah sure, like we're five years old again. Hey Pietro, I'm scared at night!"

"So you _are _having nightmares."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he looked back to the television. They needed to sort this out, whatever it was. Normally, he wasn't Mr. Philanthropy. But he liked Wanda and he definitely liked Pietro– and there honestly weren't too many people he gave a fuck about in life (or there hadn't been, before he'd come to Bayville) so he wasn't about to watch them fuck themselves up. 

"Yeah," she admitted. "Not that scary though. They shouldn't be, anyhow. I don't know why they wake me up, to be honest. Sometimes they're not scary at all. And it takes a hell of a lot to scare me, usually."

He felt a smile appearing on his face as he offered, "Usually you doing the scaring, _ma chere_, that's why."

She gave a quick snort of approval to that statement, but before she could speak again, Pietro flashed into the room, and stood leaning on the television. "Happy sis?"

"If you even left a hair in that bath tub, I'm coming back for you," she threatened, standing up and brushing past her brother as if her conversation with Jean-Paul hadn't occurred at all. She let her hands crackle blue and green as she passed him, and he jumped away quickly, then stood wrinkling his nose up at her retreating figure for a few moments. 

Normally, it would've been funny. But tonight, for some reason, he suddenly didn't feel much like laughing. 

"What's _her _problem?" Pietro planted himself back at his post on the couch, and threw his feet up onto Jean-Paul's lap. 

Jean-Paul seriously considered pushing those feet back off of him and putting his own up on Pietro, just to be obtuse. But to be honest, Pietro usually did things his way. He figured he could give a little, on such a silly issue like who sat how on the couch. This time. "She's having nightmares."

Pietro looked up at him with an expression of surprise that was hauntingly similar to his sister's only moments ago, when Jean-Paul had mentioned the word _nightmares _to her. They looked nothing alike, the Maximoffs. Except for the eyes. But at the moment, it was perfectly clear that they were brother and sister. 

But the silver-haired speedster quickly recovered, and leaned back comfortably on the couch. "Probably watching some kind of horror flick. She gets more goth every day."

Jean-Paul sighed, but kept quiet. He could probably depend on Wanda to talk to Pietro about it, eventually. But nothing short of forcing them to talk would make either Maximoff break down and do it before things got _really _bad. 

And if this wasn't _really _bad, Jean-Paul honestly didn't want to see what _was._ Because it was making _him_ insane, and he was sleeping just fine.

* * *

Jeanne-Marie knew damn well that she should've said no to that last glass of wine. But she wasn't driving anywhere, and she was so happy and warm and full of good food... she didn't want it to end. It didn't matter anyhow, her metabolism would get rid of the alcohol fast enough. It was just that... it hit hard, that wine.

But her wish had been granted. It was perfect. The whole evening, just perfect. She'd been here almost four hours now, first eating and talking, then talking some more, and now watching a movie that neither of them were paying much attention to because... they just kept _talking_. It was like they had an endless stream of conversation, and the more they talked, the more they had to talk about. First, about the X-Men. Silly gossipy talk about who was who and what they thought of each of them individually. Then about art. He asked her what she would study in school, if she went, she said something to do with art. And it had spawned a long conversation on art and film and literature that had Jeanne-Marie feeling like she was flying, despite the fact that she was glued to her chair. 

He even had paintings in the apartment. He showed her the Van Gogh in the living room, the Cezanne in the study, and the Gaugin that had been hanging on the wall in the dining room the entire time, that she'd assumed were just reproductions. He liked the color of impressionism, but not the Impressionists themselves. He liked the post-impressionists, with their injection of emotion, darker undercurrents, into the medium, the way they added to a movement that was mostly just vague emotion based on reaction to color, on something "pretty..." 

They went on and on. Two hours, standing there, just talking. Not about each other, anymore. Just about some strangely nebulous concept, about something beautiful that she could hardly believe another human being had the uncanny ability to _understand _like she did. Many people understood art, of course. She did not think she was alone in that, or even that she understood nearly enough. But no one else seemed to understand it like she did. And there was no music playing, no TV noise, no eating, no doing anything but standing in front of a Gaugin talking, the entire time. Until her feet hurt and her glass was empty.

And then they laughed at how silly it was. They'd wanted to get to know each other better, and here they were, talking about art. 

But secretly, Jeanne-Marie knew she'd learned more about him from that conversation than she would have from hearing his entire family history. Because family was a part of everyone, of course. But who they _were_, inside, was individual. 

And if this was Warren Worthington, this man who understood things, who saw color and light, who watched emotion unfold on paper and canvas like she did... then she thought she knew enough, for one night. They had time. All the time in the world. 

Not to mention an already planned trip to the Met tomorrow. And a possible visit to the family home, where their much larger collection of art was housed. At least, the part of the collection that wasn't in the Met. Apparently the Worthingtons had quite a few items on loan to the museum.

He talked about it like it was nothing though. He didn't sound proud, or preening. It was just the way things were, for him. It was just money. Easy for him to say, of course. But she appreciated that attitude, nevertheless. It occurred to her, and not for the first time, that Warren was probably lucky to have his mutation for more than just the wonderful ability to fly it gave him. It had probably also kept him from being the most annoying kind of stuck up rich boy possible. Instead he was...

Wonderful.

He had loosened up considerably since he'd picked her up earlier. He'd seemed so eager, so hopeful, but still so restrained, at first. But halfway through dinner, and two glasses of wine later, he was smiling much more, talking freely, laughing that low, sweet laugh of his. By the time they'd finished with the painting, and decided to watch some funny movie, just for the sake of lightening things up, they'd opened their second bottle and were acting like old friends. 

The movie was _Snatch._ He had something for Guy Ritchie films, apparently, and she was not disagreeable to anything involving Brad Pitt, so they sat on the couch to enjoy it. She noticed how tightly he could fold up his wings, when he needed to, how they tucked up and under themselves so that when he sat back, they didn't seem as inconvenient as she'd initially thought they would be. In fact, despite his size, easily over six feet tall, and his wingspan that was twice that, nothing about Warren Worthington seemed at all awkward or out of place. He moved with the sureness of a dancer, if not quite the fluidity, and his wings seemed the most graceful part of all. Just like an angel's should be. Shining and strong, soft and powerful, all at once. 

She found herself having to constantly repeat in her head, _do not touch him_. 

But it wasn't just the wings that she wanted to touch, as it turned out. Because as he laughed at the movie, albeit quietly (she wasn't sure he was capable of raising his voice, in fact), she couldn't help but watch his face. She wanted to trace the strong line of his jaw, cut almost perfectly square, but saved from severity by the slightest of rounded edges. To ruffle his blonde hair, once so perfectly in place, now adorably mussed from his distracted pushing and pulling at it while they discussed their favorite artists. 

She contented herself by moving a little closer, leaning against his arm and wrapping her own around it, pulling her legs up onto the couch. And tried to watch the movie. After only a few moments of a very dirty Brad Pitt doing some hellacious accent then was pure murder on her English-as-a-second-language, she gave up and simply started laughing, "I can't understand a word he's saying."

Warren grinned, and reached out to the coffee table in front of them for the remote. "Something about periwinkle blue. Wait, let me rewind...," he hit the button once, and the picture slid backwards at a frantic pace, until it was nearly four scenes behind where they wanted it to be, "Ah! Too far!"

She giggled at him, having never heard him sound so excited about anything as of their short association, and cheered him on, "Stop! Stop!"

He wrestled with the picture for a few moments longer, and finally got it where he wanted it, then let it play again. And still, "Yeah. Just _periwinkle blue_. That's the best I can do. But I want you to tell me something, Jeanne-Marie, and be honest."

She nodded, solemnly, "Of course, _cher_."

"Is Brad Pitt really that attractive?" 

She grinned hugely, and soon he was grinning right back. "Well, not in this movie," she admitted. "Unless he has his shirt off." She had to admit, no matter how dirty he looked, a sexy man with his shirt off was still probably going to be pretty attractive. At least... from a distance.

His nose scrunched up in an uncharacteristic, or so she thought, expression of mild disgust. "Horrible tattoos."

"I like tattoos!" She protested, whacking him halfheartedly in the arm.

"I like them too, just not badly done ones."

"Ha!" She laughed at him. "Tattoo snob!"

His brow creased, as if he were considering a business matter of the utmost importance. "I believe," he finally said, "that I am."

She covered her mouth to keep from giggling too much more, and soon he was shaking with laughter too. For no apparent reason, really. Just looking at each other and laughing. And he looked so happy. No more sadness, even if it only lasted for a minutes. His bright blue eyes were crinkled up sweetly, and his heroic face looked so boyish... 

"You're laughing," she pointed out, moving a little closer so that their legs were pressed against each other's, so that she could feel him. She knew it could have sounded stupid, if she'd said that to anyone else.

But, as she'd known he would, Warren understood. "I am. Quite a bit." 

He was silent for a moment, however, and she suddenly wondered if she was perhaps being too forward with him. He had barely touched her, since she'd known him. Most of her friends knew that she liked to be hugged, liked to put her arm around people, liked affection. But Warren, for some reason, seemed a little stand-offish. Not purposely, of course. Unconsciously. "Do you mind this?" She squeezed his arm, to let him know what she meant.

This time, his smile actually bared those gorgeous pearly white teeth of his. "God n–," he stopped what he was saying, and started to laugh again. Jeanne-Marie noticed that his ears flushed pink when he was embarrassed. How utterly charming. "I mean..."

She smiled back, and leaned closer to him now, letting her head rest against his, comfortably. "Ok. You just don't seem very affectionate, is all."

"I am," he said, quickly. "I just... you know...," his fingers were tracing a line up and down her arm now, making it tingle just a bit, so that she almost wanted to shiver. Warm hands, so gentle. "I never got to be, really." 

She sat up and looked at him now, and if she hadn't been won over by this time, the totally out of place half-grin on his face would have done the trick instantly. Her heart started to beat faster, and she felt a rush of her blood that was strangely familiar, but different, somehow, this time. "I can help with that."

His blue eyes grew wide, as she leaned in a little closer, slowly. She put one hand on his chest, so she could feel his heart beat, fast and furious as hers. He slid an arm around her waist, and she was pleased to see that despite the fact that he hadn't had a chance to exercise his abilities at romance lately, he seemed to have a natural feeling for it. He pulled her closer, the surprise leaving his eyes completely, and simply smiled again. Breathing. Warm. 

She closed her eyes, and let it happen. She knew better than to think that she would be able to leave without it, the way she'd been watching his pretty lips when he spoke all night long. They felt even better than they looked, as it turned out. Soft, but without yielding too much. For a moment it was almost innocent, and his hand reached up to push her long hair back from her face. But before she knew what was happening, her mouth opened under his, and she couldn't help but run her tongue along the ridge of his teeth, quickly. She just wanted a little more, to feel a little more. 

Jeanne-Marie Beaubier always felt just a little conflicted, of course. She had a very good girl inside of her, and she usually listened to it with boys, despite her flirtatious habits. Not that she was so very innocent, but she hadn't done much more than kiss, really. And Warren seemed to bring that out in her, to speak to her thoughtful, introspective side, more than her dangerous, thrill seeking one.

But as it turned out, she realized– as she sunk deeper into their kiss, as she traced the lines of his chest through the linen of his shirt, as she felt her blood rushing and his breath so hot on her face– the mild-mannered, art appreciating, soft spoken Angel, was also perfectly capable of having an in-depth conversation with the bad girl in her. Without using any words at all.

* * *

This was getting bad.

So bad, it made her sick to her stomach, just thinking about it. 

Wanda sat alone, in the dark, on her bed, arms wrapped around herself, eyes squeezed shut. And tried desperately not to think about what the fuck was happening to her. 

And, apparently, to her irritating, arrogant, asshole of a twin brother, who was probably asleep two rooms over, dreaming of Jean-Paul. Or, more likely still, sitting up with Jean-Paul, who, as far as she knew, had never left the house. 

She'd gone to bed early, hoping to get a jump on things. It was getting dark so soon now, it wasn't that difficult to convince her aching, exhausted body that it was time for bed. Surely, in this state of supreme tiredness, no dreams would come. Any time she'd ever been _this _tired, she never remembered having dreams.

But, of course, this night had proven her wrong. Because now it was 3AM, and here she was again, trying hard not to cry because she was just so fucking _tired_. And she hated to cry. The very idea that she needed to cry just made her angry, which brought tears to her eyes, because it was just so goddamn frustrating and her legs hurt so bad and she just needed to _sleep _all weekend...

She just didn't have the presence of mind to consider what it might mean, if Pietro really was having trouble sleeping too. Their mutations were nothing alike, their powers had no connections, they had no psychic ability that they knew of... sure, they grew up together, so maybe _similar _dreams could be explained away. But not randomly having night terrors.

Fitfully, she glanced over at the phone next to her bed. The moon was getting darker this week, but her eyes were so well adjusted she could see the room as if it were light. Every detail in stunning, post dream horror detail. Every move she make, she was sure something horrible would consume her, she shivered, she ached, inside. 

No, she wasn't going to call. She'd be ok. This was just some stupid fit she was having, or Freddy's cooking, or some kind of illness from being around Toad's god awful smell all the time, not to mention his fucking irritating moping... there was a perfectly logical explanation for this, and she wasn't going to go crawling to the first boy to open up his arms to her and say something sweet...

She closed her eyes, and willed away the thoughts. Thoughts that it wasn't like that at all. That Sam Guthrie respected her, adored her, and there was nothing wrong with taking him at face value. Hell, that redneck probably didn't even know the meaning of the word "player," even if he was too good to be true. 

But she still couldn't do it. She could handle it on her own. She didn't need Pietro, and she didn't need Sam. She'd be ok. She just needed to think.

But in order to think, she'd need some sleep.

Wanda growled low in her chest, and felt that familiar rush of uncontrolled energy start to pour into her, from that unknowable source, felt it traveling along her nervous system's pathways like wildfire, spreading through her entire body until she knew she felt herself shaking with it, uncontrollably. Until the furniture in the room started to rattle and the lamp beside her bed flickered, then shattered in a loud crack. She could feel the bed shaking under her, and blue and green flashes were starting to appear behind her eyes–

When she heard a knock on the door. 

Scared out of her destructive trance, she snapped around to eye the door suspiciously, and barked, "What?!"

"Um... just checkin' on you sweetums..."

Toad. At first, she grimaced, irritated. He'd been avoiding her for weeks, and now he suddenly turned up at her door, uninvited, in the middle of the night?

Not that this was the first time it had happened, of course. Just that she'd been enjoying the peace, even if it meant enduring endless amounts of moping from him during the day, when he entered into her presence. "I'm fine, Todd," she said, loud enough that he would hear, and hopefully go away. "Just go back to bed."

"Ah... ok. Just sounded... you know, like a natural disaster."

She sighed, and rolled her eyes. For as irritating as he was... he honestly did mean well. It probably wasn't his fault he was so creepy... that didn't mean she had to date him, of course, but she could at least be civil... "It's ok. Thanks, Toad, but I'm fine."

"Ok...," he sounded unconvinced, but she heard the distinct sound of him hopping back down the hallway to his own room, as she fell back onto her pillow and pulled the covers up over her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight the anger, the flashes of hex bolt that she saw behind her eyes when it came, trying to get rid of the images from the dreams, of a keep high in the mountains, of childish fairy tale people, of gypsy wagons and lightning storms. She knew she'd been brought up by gypsies, when she was very young. Maybe it was all something about them, about stories they'd told her, that were coming back. That didn't explain what the fuck Pietro was doing having nightmares, of course but...

Again, Wanda sighed, and squeezed her eyes shut even harder, trying to fight the tears of frustration, of pure exhaustion, that threatened again.

"Absolutely fucking fine," she said aloud, to no one. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: Oh, the long ass chapter of mushiness is over now, everyone can take a deep breath. 

First, a quick word on how I'm doing Warren. (Heh... wow my mind is even sicker at 4AM, as it turns out...) It's tempting to make him 616 Warren, of course. But he's not. The two episodes I'm using for most of my Warren here are, of course, _On Angel's Wings_ and _Under Lock and Key_. Two of my favorites, incidentally. Anyhow, the Warren in _On Angel's Wings_ was very soft-spoken, very withdrawn. He starts out in his nice big apartment, and goes out to save lives, but he's obviously ignoring his family (episode starts with them leaving him a message, something about "we love you and we miss you, please call us!" And him just sitting there, staring) and doesn't seem to have much of a life. He clearly doesn't know about other mutants, and is very businesslike when approached by both sides ("Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," to Mags, and to Scott and Rogue, "What makes what you do so different from Magneto's pitch?" Or something like that.) He just doesn't seem to trust anyone, but he is obviously an extremely caring sort, considering his acts as Angel, and his concern over the little girl he knocked into the river. In _Under Lock and Key_ (for the record, my favorite episode ever,) he is suddenly living in a huge house, not hanging out in Worthington Tower. When Gambit breaks in, he goes after him without question, and eventually turns up, asking the X-Men for their help. Again, soft-spoken, calm, and willing to do what it takes to do the right thing. 

And that's pretty much all we have. I mean, he was in Ascension... but who wasn't? From that... I get this. So I think of what I know about Warren Worthington III, from 616. And it boggles the mind. So I try and reconcile it with what little I have to go on from Evo... yeah, ok. I love Angel, let me be perfectly honest. I think he's a brilliant, beautiful character. And I wanted to prove it. So this is how I decided to do it, and I hope it works for you like it worked for me. 

(End Angel Infomercial) 

Shout outs–

_Caliente: _Yeah, Quickie had a short-lived series in the late nineties, I have a couple of em, as well as most of the crossover thingie with Heroes for Hire that was called "Siege at Wundagore." It rocked. Since you love Sam so much, you should be happy with this story. He's obviously going to be in it quite a bit, considering the Maximoffy nature of things. Granted, not as much as my siblings, but still... he'll get to have his day! The Sasquatch reference, the kids in school, everything... it's all more than a cameo. Everyone I mention is there for a reason, I promise. Bear with me, and I'll try not to lead you astray! As for the length of the review, good god, say as much as you need to. I like to know what I did right and what I did wrong, and what made you think or puke or cry or whatever. That's how I know how to get better! PS– more diaries plz thx! 3 ya!

_The Rogue Witch_: See, you might _think _they're different storylines, but they're all going to the same place... enough about me, though! You know I do like Jean a lot better in Evo, and I think it's the girl power thing. Ok, I still don't like her that much (she's too much like me, in the things I dislike about myself, and my exact opposite in the things I like, if that makes sense), but I still want to use her. I either like pain or... or... yeah ok. Must just like pain. Hope you're still enjoying!

_Chad_: Apologies for the lack of dealing with Toad. It's one of those things that's going to happen mostly off-panel, I'm afraid, since it doesn't much further the plot (other than bringing Wanda out of a murderous rage right then.) He may pop up later– the story is plotted, but how I'm getting from point A to B to C is mostly up in the air, after chapter five... 

_Fata Morgana_: Yes, Pietro is a creep, and it is annoying. But to be honest... that's what I love most about him, so it isn't about to change! Our lives would be boring without Pietro the Bastard! Yes, Ororo Munroe is very missing... mostly cause I'm not bothered to write everyone in the Evo cast... this is already a damn epic . Mostly, the people I'm deeming "secondary" turn up when I need them to forward something. It's cruel, but... wow, there are a lot of mutants rattling around in Evolution... Glad you liked the bits with JP/Pietro, as always I love writing them, and the thing with Logan. Good old Wolvie... sometimes he's just so... fun. ;)

_Akuma no Tsubasa_: Very glad that you're agreeable to my characterizations of Warren and Bobby– I worry the most about the originals, of course, and it means a lot to me that it's been alright, thus far. As for JM and Warren, the pair seems to be meeting with approval, which is good, since they're going to feature prominently, for better or for worse. Which I'm sure you've sorted out already! And oh god, please don't apologize for leaving a long review! It helps immensely to know what struck a chord– that way I know what to try and use again!

_TKD: _Read enough JP smut and suddenly Walt Langkowski seems damn cool, doesn't he? Even if it involves a cold metal medlab table and lots of bruised JP. Anyhow, enough of my fanfic scars. Thanks for the nice review, like I said up there, the big ones let you know what you're doing right, wrong, and so mediocre no one is bothered to comment. Thank you for having faith in me, to realize that I'm going somewhere with everything I throw in there. Can't tell you how glad I am that you're out there ;)

_S-Star: _Glad to know that you're still reading, and interested. And not getting headaches from the storylines. Hope you feel the same all the way through this monster fic! 

_Crazyspaceystracey_: Clearly, I also have Wanda/Sam issues. The pairing I started as a joke is now taking over my life, and I think I'm in love with them. Nice to know that others are too!

_Risty: _Sam *is* cute. He's just... guh. Must have to do with him getting good page time in Xtreme atm, but I've been having Sam fits lately. And yeah, the guy who doesn't quite know what to say, but isn't embarrassing about it... that's really where it's at. Glad you're prepared for an epic, cause that's where I think I'm going with this... gods help me...

_Taineyah_: Oh! Oh! Another Trekkie! I read a lot of TNG books back in my day, and yeah... weird ass plotline issues. Maybe that's where my issues come from! The whole thing at Lorna's party was insanely funny (Um "a spicy Cajun dish with some seriously hot buns." Has anyone ever uttered a better description of Gambit? I think not!) And the Juggernaut baiting was awesome. Ran mental circles about that big lug, and it was brilliant! Glad you're liking JP these days– he's a hell of a character. Now if they'd only use him more... 

_Relwarc_: You know, it's odd. I started to write the Alex/Scott conversation, but realized that it had nothing to do with the plot, so I ended up cutting it out before I even finished it. One of those plot bunny things that tried to sink it's pointy teeth into my neck. But I overcame, telling myself that I just had 16 chapters of that sort of thing with HCT, and stuck to it. I've really just enjoyed writing Scott so much lately that it was hard to resist. (Holy god... did I just _say _that?) I'm really glad that you're still reading and reviewing, your input is always helpful, encouraging, and thoughtful. Glad that I could interest you!

_Peanutbaby13: _You know, you're right. Scott is way more fun when he's having a breakdown... I'll see what I can do. As for Scott/Jean... well they're having the typical college issue right now... but at least you're good with JM and Warren! Nice to see you around again, and can't wait for more of the epic! But you knew that ;)

_GayRon_: Ah yes. JP's magic hands. If there is someone in the world who isn't utterly beguiled by the idea of it... they are made of ice. No pun intended. Well, not really. Ok, maybe a little pun intended. Er. Right.

That said, I know that some of you have already seen it, but Sue and I put up another issue of our 616 fanfic comic type series, _Fallen Angels. _The second issue is called "Calling Tech Support," and it's up at our joint account at fallenxangels. If you're interested. 

If you're not... whoooo I just wasted another fifteen seconds of your day! Sorry bout that! 

I'm so bloody tired. I should never write an AN when I'm this wiped, but look at me, here I go again... 

  



	6. Advertisements and Visitors

Chapter Five: Advertisements and Visitors

"It's nice Jean," Kitty pronounced happily, after her day of touring the urban campus where Jean Grey now spent her days , "Maybe I _will _look into applying here next year. The computer labs are awesome!"

Jean smiled down at her, and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Like a supermodel. Jean and Jeanne-Marie always reminded Kitty of supermodels, with the way they moved. Not in a jealous way, just in an admiring one. "I have a few friends who are Comp E, if you want to talk to them sometime."

Kitty felt her brow furrow in confusion, and raised an eyebrow at the older girl, "Comp E?"

"Computer Engineering, sorry," she explained, taking Kitty's arm and leading her around one corner, toward the pizza place she swore had the best margherita pizza she'd ever tasted. "Comp E, double E, BME..."

"Oh right," Kitty nodded, now feeling a little stupid. Well, not that she was supposed to know, but still, "Duh."

"No problem, Kit," Jean smiled down at her. "It's pretty nice to have someone visit me here, you know. I like showing people around."

Kitty, for one, was glad. She and Jean were not the best of friends, but they'd always gotten along well, and she'd been worried about the older girl when she'd gone off to college. What if she didn't make friends? Didn't like it? She knew that Jean would be too proud to come crawling back to the Institute, if that happened. And what if she wished that she _had _gone further away to school, to in North Carolina or California? 

Either way, Kitty was also glad that she wouldn't have to make that decision for a few more years, herself. But it _was _nice to see that Jean had made the right one. It gave her hope. "Well, Scott was just here the other day."

When Jean made no reply, the brunette girl looked back up at her, and saw her chewing on her lip fiercely. 

Oh god... had they _fought_? Jean certainly didn't _look _happy about her bringing it up! No way, perfect Jean Grey and Scott Summers couldn't have fought! Scott hadn't been in a bad mood or anything last night... She was about to open her mouth to ask her about it, barely able to contain herself, when Jean finally spoke.

"Yes. But he left to see Warren."

Oh! And there was another good story! "I heard he had to help Angel cook for JM," she laughed, remembering Scott's description of the acrid burning smell he'd encountered upon entering Warren's apartment.

Jean blinked, stared hard at the pavement under her feet, and chewed at her lip some more. Kitty couldn't decide if she was being thoughtful... or irritated. Sometimes, with Jean, they could end up being the same thing. Mostly when it came to Scott, though. "Did they have a good time?" She finally asked.

Did they have a good time?! Jeanne-Marie had practically been dancing when she'd _finally _come home from Warren's last night, or more accurately, this morning. And they were spending all day together today, at the museum. Kitty had been sure her Canadian friend had told everyone (well, everyone who mattered) the story. "Haven't you like, talked to her?"

"No. Not in a while."

Kitty shrugged, suddenly feeling very weirded out by Jean's thoughtful-irritated behavior. "She said she wanted to call you today, before she went out with him again."

"Yeah," Jean nodded, looking up now, as if making a real effort to be _normal _again. For which Kitty was grateful. "I got her message on my voicemail." 

And didn't call her back? Man, maybe it was JM and Jean who had fought? Those two used to be thick as thieves when they lived together... Kitty decided to keep her observations to herself as the redheaded girl led her toward a small brick building that smelled distinctly like pizza. Kitty felt her stomach rumble, and was suddenly very aware that she hadn't eaten since roughly 7AM, thanks to a smart remark Jean-Paul had made to Mr. Logan which had cost the whole team an extra session this morning. In fact, she felt a little dizzy from hunger, if she thought about it hard enough. 

But as they went past the door, a poster stapled to the sign outside, next to about ten other student-made advertisements, caught her eye. She stopped. And stared. And her mouth fell open. "Oh my god... Jean..." 

"What?" The older girl came to stand behind her, and began reading over her shoulder. "Oh..."

_ Come to the organizational meeting for STUDENTS FOR HUMANITY. Take ACTION for your species. Don't sit and watch while the threat overcomes us. We will not be silent. Humanity will STAND. Now is the time. November 1, Hopkins Bldg,, Room 100. Contact Andy Rasz @ 555-2387 or __Rasz.28@po.nys.edu._

Kitty read the sign twice, then a third time, just to make sure she was really seeing what she thought she was seeing. And she suddenly felt very sick to her stomach. "That is _so _not good..."

"That's the boy from my physical anthropology class, Andy...," Jean was saying thoughtfully, taking the whole thing a little _too _calmly, Kitty thought. 

"And they say that education usually does away with ignorance," the brunette snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, in a sudden flash of defiance. Once again, the people they bust their asses to protect fear and hate them...

Hey, that was kinda catchy... 

"What's it say at the bottom, by the little star?" Came from over her shoulder.

Kitty squinted, and leaned forward to read the smaller print at the bottom of the paper, "It says... _Not a NYS funded project... _and... _MDS (Mutant Detection System) used upon entry_– Oh my god! Mutant Detection System?! What the hell is that?!" She spun, now thoroughly pissed off, and looked up at Jean expectantly. 

Jean only shook her head slowly, "Never heard of it... but whatever it is, they can't use it. That's discrimination, the school won't tolerate it."

"Well, if it's not school funded, if it's a private organization... I mean it's pretty much a free country, right?"

Jean was still shaking her head, as she said, "I guess so, Kitty. But you're right. This is _so _not good."

* * *

Jean-Paul was taking a walk. Nothing fast, no flying. Just a nice, slow walk, around the Institute's considerable property. Alone. Trying not to worry about anything. 

Jeanne-Marie was due home at any moment, from the museum. Her brother had been surprised when she didn't return home last night until nearly 2 AM, but he'd managed to stay silent about it. He'd managed that, of course, because he wasn't home himself to see it happen, and by the time the extra long Danger Room run was over in the morning, she was running around getting ready for her day at the museum.

She seemed happy, content. He could feel it coming off of her in waves, any time she came near– she wasn't bothering to hide it. But that didn't keep him from wanting to grill her, to ask her what they did and why she was gone so long and a million other questions that every brother probably wants to ask. But he hadn't had a chance.

And really... it was probably better that way. 

Even if his sister hadn't put the fear of god into him with her forced separation from him, being around Wanda and Pietro, especially lately, made it perfectly clear to him just how amazing what he and Jeanne-Marie had together was. He could remember so clearly what it was like before her– never feeling close to anyone, never having anything that he could depend on, always alone. Famous, but alone. He used to pretend it was a good substitute. Who needs love when you have fame, he used to ask himself. 

But then he met her. And things changed, forever. When they touched, when that flash of light filled the room, his heart... woke up. Two halves of the same whole, in a way, Jean-Paul and Jeanne-Marie. They understood one another's minds, they used one another's powers. The proof was right there, for everyone to see. Oh, they were different, individual, yes. They had existed without each other for years, and could do it again if necessary.

Jean-Paul knew, however, that he would never be content to do so again. Because even when they were fighting, he knew that something would make it right. One of them would always do what had to be done. Pietro had mentioned begging. Jean-Paul had scoffed at the idea. But he knew that if he had to, he would. Only for her. Because he didn't want to live like that anymore. Didn't think he would make it, if he had to. Because not knowing what he was missing might've made him bitter, but knowing what he was missing had hurt like a motherfucker, that week. And that was mild, compared to what it would be without her entirely. 

The Maximoffs, he was convinced, were complete idiots. He adored them both, of course, but honestly. They had no idea how lucky they were. If Jeanne-Marie ever got as fucked up about something as Wanda obviously was over her nightmares, Jean-Paul knew he would be the first to hear about it. In fact, it had happened before, and she had come knocking on his door within minutes. And yes, he would go to her if something like that was keeping him up at night. Of course, it was a moot point, because they would both _know _if the other was so disturbed, but the fact remained. And really, he felt bad for Wanda and Pietro. Both of them had more issues than they knew what to do with. A little solidarity just might keep them from going off the deep end, some day. 

As he rounded the corner, coming around to the front of the house, he noticed that a car was pulling away, and his sister was standing there watching it go, her back to him. Her hair was blowing back from her face in the chill wind that had kicked up lately, and he almost smiled at the image. She looked like she should be on the cover of some dime romance novel, standing there in the wind, watching that car pull out of the drive. Quietly, he came up behind her, resolving to be gentle with his questions due to his strangely sentimental mood lately (he had to blame Pietro for being so fucked up lately– it was _really _starting to get to Jean-Paul.) 

She turned long before he reached her, grinned hugely, and started coming to meet him at a bouncing sort of run. When they met up, her pale cheeks were flushed– whether with the effort of the run, the fact that she was newly in love, or the cold of the autumn wind. He opened his mouth to ask her how her day had been, even though he could feel her radiating warmth quite clearly through their empathic link, but was taken by surprise when she threw herself into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, Jean-Paul, he's so wonderful!"

Glad that she couldn't see the incredulous expression that was no doubt creeping onto his face, and would only feel that he was genuinely pleased with her elation, he put his arms around her waist and picked her up just a little as he hugged her. ::You've been having a good time? You didn't tell me about last night.::

After a moment, she pulled away and held his hands with her own warm ones. He hadn't noticed how cold he'd gotten, staying outside so long, until that moment. ::Yes, it was wonderful. He made me dinner, with Scott's help, of course, and we talked and talked for hours. And today we spent so much time at the museum, until we agreed that we couldn't possibly look at any more without exploding! And you should see his house, Jean-Paul, the art his parents have collected. He even has some in his own apartment, at the Tower, and it's so lovely.::

Unable to help himself, Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows at her and asked, switching back to English, "That wonderful is he?"

She smiled hugely, beautifully, and nodded. "Oh yes. Jean-Paul, I want you to spend time with him."

He blinked at her for a moment, then laughed, "Me? What for?"

As they had a tendency to do when alone, she switched languages again, ::I want you to get to know him, and to love him. I know if you spend time with him you'll like him very much.::

::My sister, I will not treat him as I treated Roberto–.::

::I know. We both learned a lot from Roberto.::

::No,:: he grinned, ::I simply trust Worthington with you more than I trusted DaCosta.::

She rolled her eyes at him, still smiling. ::You will love him too, I know it.::

::If you decide that you love him, I'll have no choice,:: he pointed out, that small seed of doubt creeping back into his mind. Too fast. She was falling too fast. Two days of dating him and she was talking about love? Good god, what was she thinking? And was Worthington as far gone as she was?

But if he betrayed his thoughts through their connection, she showed no sign, ::I'm glad you've come to realize that! Is dinner ready?::

He only shook his head at her, and started to walk back toward the house, draping his arm protectively over her shoulder as they went. ::It will be soon. Let's go and get ready.::

~~

"Yo, JP."

Jean-Paul shook his head and sighed. He was getting used to Pietro magically ending up in his room when he came back from the Danger Room, dinner, or any other place Pietro was not, really. But honestly, it'd be nice if he could get a warning, now and then. "What _are _you doing here?" He asked the silver-haired boy sitting with his feet up on his desk, flipping through his date book interestedly.

"Waiting for you, dickhead. Listen, can you come over tonight?"

"Yeah, after dinner. What's going on?"

Pietro shrugged, and sat up straight, feet falling to the floor with a loud thud. "Nothing. Just making sure."

"Where else would I go?" he laughed, taking off his jacket and heading to the closet to hang it up. 

The laugh was a little forced, though. This was weird. Pietro was _making sure_ he would come over? Didn't he _always _come over on Saturday nights? Or at least hang out with the guy? Was the lack of sleep finally going to his brain so much that he thought Jean-Paul would forget him?

"I dunno, though maybe you'd be hanging out with Scott or JM or something. Since you've been over at the house so much lately."

Jean-Paul considered this, and realized that it was true. Pietro had been occupying an inordinate amount of his time lately. And he hadn't even noticed. But considering the amount of thought that was expended on the state of his best friend's sanity lately, he really might as well be with him as much as possible. He'd be thinking, worrying about him even if he wasn't, after all. In fact, he hadn't talked to Scott, Alex, or Rogue– the three he had a tendency to speak to more than the others– for quite some time outside of school. 

"Whatever," he made himself sound nonchalant, "My time really isn't as precious as I make it out to be, Pietro."

This elicited a snort from Pietro that somehow managed to communicate both sarcasm and agreement.

"You could've just called and asked me that."

"I tried," he offered, suddenly at Jean-Paul's side. "You weren't home. Can I borrow that?" He pointed to a black sweater hanging near where the Canadian X-Man had just hung his coat.

"Yes, but don't fuck it up. I was outside."

"It was fuzz-butt on the phone, he said you were _out_. So I came on over." 

Jean-Paul eyed him carefully for a moment as Pietro pulled the sweater off the hanger and laid it over his forearm. Tired. He looked sick, really. Paler than usual, eyes sunken and dark, movement less crisp, abrupt, than usual. Everything about him seemed so much less... effortless than it usually did. It hurt, somehow, to see it. And he didn't really want Pietro to go. "You want to stay for dinner?"

"Na, I gotta go, I'm supposed to be cooking," he rolled his eyes. "As much as I'd love to irritate the X-Men over dinner, and possibly give Scott some heartburn, I'll have to pass."

The X-Man led him out the door, after that, and down the hall to the stairs. "Right. Then I'll be over after, just–," but as they neared the top of the stairs, he heard some kind of commotion coming from the foyer. "What the hell is going on down there?"

Pietro shrugged, "Hell if I know man."

They exchanged a look of confusion, and almost simultaneously flashed to the bottom of the stairs, so quickly that Jean-Paul knew no one in the foyer would be able to tell that Pietro actually beat him by a fraction of a second. 

But speed was the last thing on his mind, when he saw what was causing the commotion. 

"Evening, all," A smooth Cajun accent was drawling, "Sorry to drop by without a warning, but I was out of quarters, this time."

"Gambit?!" Pietro squeaked, stalking across the foyer and pushing through Roberto, Bobby, and Rogue, who had apparently had had the misfortune to answer the door. "What the hell are you two doing here?!"

Jean-Paul turned his attention to the drop dead gorgeous Gambit, whose signature brown trench coat was hanging off of him in tatters at the bottom, and who held up a shockingly orange-haired youth in an offensively bright kevlar costume. The fashion victim's head was lolling to the side, and his eyes were just barely open, and Jean-Paul could've sworn that was drool shining in the corner of his mouth. Gambit held him up with one arm, hooked around him and under his armpit. 

He couldn't think what this could mean. All he could really think was, "What the fuck...?"

"Remy, what happened to Pyro?" Rogue unceremoniously pushed Pietro out of the way and stomped up to the Acolytes, sliding under the orange-haired boy's other arm– orange-hair boy obviously being Pyro– and lifted him upward.

"He been bleeding for about a week, _chere, _real slow. He needs a doctor."

"What are you _doing here_?" Pietro demanded again, turning a little pink in the face. Whether because he was being entirely ignored, or because the sight of his fathers' henchmen had affected him so strongly, Jean-Paul couldn't imagine. But either way, whatever it was that had brought these two to Xavier's probably wasn't going to bode well for the Brotherhood speedster's already ailing psyche. 

Or, Jean-Paul mused, still frozen in his spot at the foot of the stairs, staring, for his own psyche either. Because he was definitely starting to panic at the scene unfolding before him. The last time Gambit had been involved in anything... Jeanne-Marie... Pietro...

"Help me take him downstairs," Rogue barked at Gambit, "Mr. McCoy is down there now. Bobby, go tell the Professor we need him, if he doesn't know already."

"You can't take him down there–," Drake began to protest.

"_NOW_," Rogue spat at him, glaring with green fire in her eyes.

Bobby nearly jumped to deliver her message, and Roberto followed, throwing suspicious glares over his shoulder at the Acolytes at the door. 

"Gambit!" Pietro sounded nearly panicked now, as he started to follow the two mutants carrying the sagging orange monstrosity, on their way down to the medlab.

"Got some bad news for you, bout your father," The Cajun finally drawled, stopping for just a moment to look at him, and getting a dirty look from Rogue for his trouble. "He been kidnaped, in a way."

"By who?" Pietro squeaked, eyes wide. 

"Same people kidnaped you, kid."

* * *

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

_ Just... fuck._

Pietro Maximoff sped through the front door of the boarding house and into the living room, and found just the person he'd been looking for. Sitting there. Staring blankly at the TV.

She looked like hell. And he knew he did too. And he knew, just _knew _this had something to do with their past, something that linked them together. The dreams used to come when they were little too, when they lived in Transia, with the gypsies. Marya and Django told them to keep quiet about the animal-people in their dreams. He remembered. He remembered it like it was yesterday.

But what about Wanda? Wanda, sitting there like a zombie. What did she remember? And if he asked her questions, if he brought up old subjects, what would that make her remember? And could he afford to ask her anything, if it was going to crack whatever the hell their insane, megalomaniacal, currently kidnaped father had done to her? She would flip out, if she remembered all those years in the hospital, if he said the wrong thing and undid whatever they'd done to her mind to make her forget. Flip the fuck out and kill him. She'd tried before. He would've died, he knew, if not for the intervention of Rogue and Shadowcat, though it pained him to admit to it. He would've died. 

Dead. He didn't want to be dead. But she would make him dead, if she remembered.

Jesus. He couldn't tell her. 

The very thought made his heart beat faster. _Can'ttellheranything. Don'twannadie._

But he blurted it out anyhow, since he knew she'd find out from Guthrie or Pryde sooner or later tonight. "SinisterhasMagneto."

Her head snapped around so that she was facing him immediately. And her upper lip started to curl into a sneer. And he could see it, rising in her. Anger. God, sometimes he thought she was just _made _of anger. 

His stomach clenched sickeningly as he watched her face twist up with hatred. For him, for their father, for Sinister. He didn't know who the fuck it was for.

_Pleasedon'tletitbeme._

"How do you know?" She growled. She didn't seem disbelieving. She just seemed... like she wanted to know. And now. 

"Gambit and Pyro are over at Xavier's right now. I was just leaving and they turned up. The Marauders came for Magneto, and Pyro was injured– they shot him with something that Gambit finally figured out wouldn't let his blood clot and now he's still bleeding a little and it's been almost a week but Pyro wouldn't let him take him to the hospital so he convinced him to go to the X-Men but by the time they made it here John was totally fucked and now he's layinginthemedlabandhe's–,"

"_Stop_," she told him, firmly. She didn't yell, she just told him. 

He took a deep breath, and stared at her. Heart beating fast– even for him. And that was fucking fast. 

"Why does Sinister want him?"

Pietro thought about this, and finally admitted, "I don't know. He wanted us because we're twins... because we're the children of one of the world's most powerful mutants."

"And powerful ourselves."

_Yeah, _you_ are... _

Wait. Where had that come from? He was powerful. He was Quicksilver, goddammit, the fastest person in the world. Well, not that it had been proven, but if he was faster than Jean-Paul... he had to be faster than everyone else, right? That was powerful, dammit! 

"I guess."

"Does he want us, still?" She asked, still growling low, but staying in her seat.

"I don't know," he said again, shaking his head. "Gambit didn't say anything about us."

Wanda chewed at the inside of her cheek for a minute, and her expression softened somewhat. "Where did they take him?"

"I don't know," he was getting tired of saying. "Gambit said he didn't know either. They came, talked to him, then there was a big fight. Somehow, they got a hold of him, though I don't know how the fuck they managed that considering that if he wanted to he could just reversethebloodflowintheirveinsanddropthemcold–,"

"You're doing it again," Wanda informed him.

He took another deep breath. "Right. Sorry. What do we do?"

For a minute, his sister just looked at him. And he'd never noticed it before, but they really did have the same eyes, kinda. Same color, anyhow. Dark blue, and a little smoky. 

Weird.

Wanda suddenly clenched her jaw, appeared to swallow, and then looked back at the TV. "I have my own problems. He didn't come for you when you were in trouble, why should we care?"

"Wanda, you were the one who wanted to go when he was taken by Apoca–,"

"I _know_," she looked back at him and snarled. "There is nothing wrong with my memory, dear brother."

Now, it was Pietro's turn to swallow hard. 

"But things are different now. He doesn't give a fuck about us, you said it yourself not six months ago. Why do you suddenly care?"

She might as well have hexed him to the wall. Or slapped him in the face. He opened his mouth, expecting some kind of cruel retort to find its way out, to slap her right back. 

But no sound came. He only stared, remembering what Sinister had done to him. The way it had felt, his nervous system frying at light speed.

He didn't like his father. Hated him, in fact, most of the time. But he didn't want him to die. Not like that, and not at all. Was that why it bothered him to hear that his father had been taken? Or was it the idea that Sinister could use Magneto to get to him again, to come back, to take him away, to do it all over again, to use him and Wanda for some kind of sick research that ended with them in bits and pieces all over that fucking horrible lab of his, with the green bubbling tank and the torches and the machines that probed his mind and burnt his insides...?

Wanda just shook her head, and looked back to the TV again. "It's not like we could do anything anyhow. We don't even know where they took him. He can take care of himself."

Pietro just stood there, completely still, for a moment. Stomach in knots, heart in his throat, watching his tired, cold, heartless, fearless sister watch TV. 

And for the first time in ten years, he wished that he could be more like his sister.

* * *

Bobby Drake was well and truly worn out. The arrival of one Remy LeBeau and one St.John Allerdyce, not to mention the news of the X-Men's biggest rival Magneto, had, to say the least, put a bit of a damper on dinner. In fact, he still hadn't eaten. But it was only eleven o'clock, on a Saturday night, and he was fucking worn out. 

He undressed, throwing his clothes at the foot of his bed, and slid into the sheets with a sigh of great relief, noticing the snores coming from Roberto's side of the room and the peaceful expression on Sam's face in the bed next to Bobby's. Heh. And they hadn't even had to do a double session today, like he had, thanks to Jean-Paul's smart mouth. 

But Jean-Paul's smart mouth had been noticeably absent all evening, after the two Acolytes had arrived in their foyer. The one standing tall and strong had looked like he'd been through the wringer-- the thief Gambit. The other had been slumped lifelessly on his arm, looking like someone had drained all the blood out of him-- the nutcase Pyro. 

Nutcase. He shouldn't think of him like that, the guy could die if Mr. McCoy couldn't save him. Even if he'd fought them both on occasion, Bobby could still have a little compassion. Those Marauders were no fucking joke– he'd seen that well enough in London a few months ago, when they took Jeanne-Marie. And Mr. McCoy had said that whatever drug was on the dart they shot Pyro with, he'd never seen it before, but it definitely had some sort of blood-diluting agent, not to mention something that slowed down Pyro's natural mutant pyrokinesis, most likely. Something about that had all the adults pretty worried, including Scott. 

But Bobby was a little too tired to consider why or how. He just wanted to sleep now. Sleep away the... weirdness of today.

*Rrrring.*

His eyes snapped open, but he didn't move. Was that...? Na, couldn't be. He was hearing things...

"Xavier Institute."

Bobby felt his eyes go wide, and fought an urge to turn over and look at his roommate, Sam. Who apparently had been sleeping with the phone under his pillow, and had just answered it after one ring, out of a completely dead sleep only a second before.

Oh, this day just got weirder and weirder.

"Yeah, I tried to call, but they said you were out..." Sam's whisper was barely audible, and Bobby had to strain to listen to it. Who the fuck would be calling him at this hour? His family? Wanda? What the hell for? Was Sam some kind of secret thief... or maybe he did drug deals in his spare time? Damn...

"No, don't... I see... yeah, it happened again? ... Ok, I'm on my way... no, I want to... I'll just go out the window, no one will know..."

Ok... who was this guy in the bed next to his, and what had he done with Sam Guthrie?! No way that Kentucky boy was actually going to sneak out at eleven o'clock! Of course, it was a weekend, and if he wanted to spend the night somewhere, he would've been allowed... but he hadn't gotten permission, and permission was required for that kind of thing... Jesus, if only he weren't so damn exhausted this would make way more sense, he just knew it...

"I want to... it's ok, don't worry about it... I'll be there in five minutes... yeah, you'll hear the crash," Sam gave a muffled, half-hearted laugh at that. "Ok... Wanda?"

Wanda! It _was _Wanda?! What the hell was Wanda calling at eleven for? Was it about the whole Magneto thing? And why the hell did Sam have the phone in bed with him, like he was waiting for the call?

"I'm glad you called. I'll be there soon."

Bobby heard the beep that meant his roommate had hung up the phone, and then heard him slip out of bed and start digging around in their collective clothes-pile. Bobby considered his options. He could lay there, and be unable to fall asleep because he was dying to know what the hell was happening. Or he could sit up, and ask the redneck just what the hell he thought he was doing. 

No choice at all. 

He flipped over in bed and asked, "Sam, what the fuck are you up to?"

His blonde roommate jumped in surprised at the sound of his voice, legs half in, half out of his jeans, and fell in a pile of tangled limbs onto the floor with a muffled "Mmph" sound. 

Bobby sat up, torn between laughing at the awkward position of his dear roommate, and demanding an explanation immediately. 

Sam looked up at him from the floor, leaning against his bed, jeans up to his knees, and scratched at the back of his head in that "confused hick" way he had. 

"What was Wanda calling about? Why are you going over there?"

"Uh...," the country boy looked down at the ground, and suddenly seemed to notice that his pants weren't on yet. He worked on pulling them up and tucking his boxers into them as he stuttered, "Well... I, uh... she's..."

Bobby watched, finding it harder and harder not to laugh. Between Sam's difficulty getting his pants on while sitting on the floor and his distracted attempt at finding an explanation that was acceptable, Bobby was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to hold it back much longer. But embarrassing the guy would only make it harder to get an explanation out of him... "Well? She's what?"

The other boy stood now, and zipped up his jeans at long last, then looked over at Bobby. And then down at the ground, fast. "She just needs me to go over. I'll be back before breakfast, just cover for me if someone needs me, or... whatever. Ok?"

And suddenly, Bobby didn't want to laugh anymore. Because when Sam looked back up at him, met his eyes... he looked a lot older than his barely 16 years. And he didn't look awkward anymore. Didn't look like some long-legged, slack-jawed, clueless country kid. 

He looked serious. Looked... kinda... well, grown-up. Like this was important.

"Yeah, of course I'll cover for you, man."

Sam nodded, and started digging for a shirt in the pile of clothes. "Thanks, Bobby."

"How you gonna get back in?

"Just use the security codes."

"You have them all memorized?"

Sam stood up, shirt in hand, and asked, "Don't you?"

No! Who the hell could remember five different codes that changed every week? Not, Bobby... and he was amazing with numbers. "Uh... yeah, of course I do."

"Well, see you at breakfast."

"Later, Romeo."

Sam just raised an eyebrow at him, pulled his shirt over his head, then turned to head to the window. "Close it once I'm out of here, ok?"

Bobby followed him to the window, and leaned against the wall as Sam crouched up on the sill, on the balls of his feet. "Gonna come crashing through her bedroom window?" he couldn't resist.

His roommate looked over at him, sporting his typical crooked grin, "Was hoping I could land in the shrubbery before I did any real property damage."

Bobby laughed, then patted him on the back. 

And Sam jumped out the window with astounding grace, for a boy who'd just spent a good five minutes tangled up in his own jeans. Bobby leaned out, to watch, and saw his friend's mutant power activate before he was halfway to the ground, suddenly rocketing him upwards and out, leaving a glowing trail behind him, almost too fast to see. He watched until he was too far away to see, then closed the window and padded back to bed, to the sound of Roberto's snoring.

Yeah. Definitely a weird fucking day.

* * *

Scott was so tired, he could barely think. But some instinct in him, something protective, wouldn't let him go to bed until Remy LeBeau was safely asleep first. Hardly anyone else seemed to think it was odd that the man had been let in and given full access to the Institute immediately, despite the fact that they'd fought him on more than one occasion, he worked for Magneto, and he'd basically kidnaped Rogue not so very long ago. 

Granted, he had warned them about the Maximoffs. But that didn't mean he was trustworthy. 

A fact that only he and Logan seemed to appreciate. The feral sat, eyeing the Cajun mutant from the other side of the room, sniffing now and then, as if checking for some kind of malicious intent in his scent. 

Scott wouldn't have minded a look in the guy's head either. Instead, he settled for listening to Gambit retell his story to Hank. 

"I been hanging around, part time, with the crew, since I left here. They found me, like I figured they would. But the boss, he let me get off easy, told me Ididn't have to stay anymore, when I told him about his kids. Just got this look in his eye. Said he had to take care of things. He been trying to get a hold of Sinister ever since, even worse than when he thought the man had ties to Apoc. But now Magneto don't want to ask him questions, he just wants to kill the man. Said anyone who would fuck with his family had to go. Not in those words, course, but that's what he meant."

"He ain't seen those kids in months," Logan growled across the room, just as Scott was thinking it. "He just wants an excuse to go on another crusade."

"Perhaps you make an excellent point, Logan," Beast nodded his head at the mutant crouched in the corner, "However, that does not necessarily signify that we should disregard the possibility that Magneto's genuine concern for his offspring led to this particular endeavor."

"I don't call locking a girl up in an insane asylum at the age of eight genuine concern. Hell, Hank," Scott made himself push the man's first name out, "Magneto's parenting skills, or lack thereof, can _almost _account for Pietro's attitude. He was gunning for Sinister from the beginning."

"Don't matter why he wanted the man," Gambit shrugged, leaning back against the wall now. "All that matters is that his interest got him kidnapped, and Pyro cut up. Colossus split for Russia as soon as Mags was taken, said he was gonna come back here after he got his family business taken care of. Said he wanted to talk to Xavier. Thought maybe we'd find him here–,"

"Well he ain't here," Logan snarled. "So get back on the subject, swamp rat. What does Sinister want with Magneto?"

"That's what I been trying to think of, _mon ami_. And far as I can see, the only thing Magneto is to him is a threat. Maybe Magneto getting too close to the truth about him, so he had to take him out," Gambit crossed his arms over his chest, looking completely at home.

"No...," Scott shook his head, "That doesn't make sense. He would've just killed him, it's obvious that Sinister has no qualms. I mean, he _experiments _on mutants." He suppressed a shiver at the thought of it, and remembering what Jeanne-Marie Beaubier had looked like on the plane back from London that day, a crying, shaking, fragile thing, slowly losing her mind in her brother's arms. 

Jesus. He really wished that Magneto was all they had to deal with. He'd rather be fighting Gambit and Pyro than that scary bastard any day...

"I don't know then, Cyke," Gambit raised an eyebrow and stared him down with those unnerving red-on-black eyes. "You ask me a question, I give you the only answer I can think of. Unless he still wants the kids."

"I propose that that is not entirely outside the realm of possibilities," Hank said, nodding slowly. "And given the potential, perhaps the Beaubiers should be provided with some sort of surveillance as well, considering his previously evidenced interest in their rather unique genetic relationship–,"

"The Beaubiers ain't the offspring of the most powerful mutant in the world, _homme_." Gambit pointed out. "And that's what Sinister said, when he was done messing with my head."

Scott snorted, "What? He told you his nefarious plan, then left you hanging on a wall to die? What is he, a Bond Villian?"

Gambit narrowed those frightening eyes at him, and pointed at him, as if his hand were a gun. But his voice stayed calm, smooth, low. The man always sounded like he was purring, somehow. "No, that's not what happened. He was talking to himself, then to his henchmen."

Amazing. He hadn't said a word, but he still managed to make Scott feel, just by looking at him like that, as if there was some kind of implied threat. _Shut the fuck up about what he did to me_. Almost like it was coming off the older guy, like a signal being broadcast.

Scott was unimpressed. Gambit was tough, but honestly, so was he. If the guy was for real, he'd be happy to let him stick around, join up with the X-Men like Xavier had offered him last time. But he had to prove himself first, and unspoken threats weren't the way to do it. No matter how he looked at it. "Either way, the Beaubiers should be warned, but I doubt it's any immediate threat."

"I concur," Beast was nodding again, looking from Scott to Gambit carefully, one bushy eyebrow raised. "It's reasonably safe to assume, at least until presented with evidence that suggests otherwise, that our megalomaniacal geneticist super-villain is presently otherwise occupied. Magneto will not be an easy house-guest to pacify."

It didn't make any sense, the Cajun's story. He rolled it over in his mind, then spoke again, finally. "Let me see if I have this straight. Magneto is obsessed with Sinister because he thinks he has ties to Apocalypse. He sends you on a recon mission, you get captured, Sinister finds out about him and his kids. He becomes obsessed with them in turn, tries to kidnap them with his crew of nutcases, fucks it up– excuse me Hank–,"

Beast grinned hugely and held up a large blue hand, "Please, my friend, don't feel inhibited my presence."

"So we get our guys back, you run back and tell Magneto what happened, he has fits about someone daring to mess with his kids, and goes after Sinister full tilt. Sinister eventually sends his little potato-heads out again, and they somehow manage to overcome the Master of Magnetism. Who is, like you said, one of the most powerful mutants in the world. _And_ cut Pyro all to hell, as well as shoot him in the neck with some kind of poison dart that's keeping his blood from clotting properly. Ad now we think it's slowing down his mutant power of pyrokinesis as well. You two hide out for about a week, him threatening your life any time you come near him, Colossus splitting for Russia. You don't call, like you did last time–,"

"What you want me to call about?" Gambit interrupted, still sounding cool as a cucumber, despite the purposely inflammatory nature of Scott's rant. "Tell you Magneto's missing? What the X-Men gonna care about Magneto getting himself kidnaped? Shit, Remy don't even care about it, and I know Johnny in there don't. I would be in New Orleans right now, if it weren't for him slowly dying all week long. Couldn't leave him like that."

"You told us about the Maximoffs," Scott tried to sound hard, even though that last bit, the bit about not being able to leave Pyro, had hit kind of hard. Not that his saying it proved it was is true motivation... but why say it otherwise? 

"The Maximoffs just a couple of kids," Gambit pointed out, staring him down fearlessly, still leaning against the wall, head high, like he owned the place. "And it was my fault they were a target. Magneto, he's no kid. He just as dangerous as Sinister. I worked with Quicksilver, don't forget. Never met a more perfect example of a scared little kid. A brat, _oui_, but young."

"And how old are you, Gambit?" Scott snorted. The guy couldn't be more than 23, at the most...

"I don't see that it's your business, _homme_." He arched an eyebrow dangerously, but didn't move another muscle.

"I do believe that will suffice," Hank suddenly put a hand on Scott's shoulder, and Scott felt some of the tension he had been unconsciously storing in his back start to flood out of him at the touch. Reminding him to relax. Gambit was not necessarily an enemy. Not this time, and not yet. "It's time for us to retire, if I'm not mistaken. I will remain here to monitor Mr. Allerdyce's condition until I determine that he will, indeed, recover. The rest of you, to bed."

Logan, who had been surprisingly quiet in the corner, almost to the point where Scott forgot about him entirely, growled something low in his chest as a response, and stood up to leave. "Come on, Cajun. I'll show you to your room."

Remy followed Logan out the door, brushing past Scott in a breeze that smelled like cigarettes and autumn. Without another look in the X-Man's direction.

When the door closed behind them, Scott felt his tension release almost completely, and was sharply reminded again of just how tired he was. 

"Get some rest, my friend," Hank told him, patting his back once more, and turning to look through the window of glass on the door to the private room Pyro was sleeping in. 

"He going to be ok?"

"I believe... that the probability is high."

"Gambit should have brought him here earlier," Scott groused, looking at the chalk-white face of the Australian mutant napping in the next room. "He's lucky he's not dead, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. But one does not argue with a pyrokinetic in possession of a lighter, Scott. It is a battle that is destined to be lost. And he didn't realize the bleeding was constant–,"

"Yeah, I know," Scott pulled at his hair a bit, distracted. "I'm just tired, that's all. It's been a long weekend, and it's only Saturday night, you know?"

Beast nodded, solemnly. "In the immortal words of Ringo Starr, 'It's been a hard day's night.'"

Scott felt himself smiling at the furry blue teacher, against his own will. "I thought it was John who sang that one."

"Unfortunately, I fear that I'm not cognizant as to that information. But I believe the quote came from Mr. Starkey. Good night, Scott."

Scott nodded, and left the medlab. He walked down the hall, took the elevator up to the main house. Headed into the foyer, and up the stairs. Wandered down the hallway, into his own room, at the end of the hall. All the while, trying not to think about how everything was suddenly so completely fucked up in his life. 

Not that it was bad. Just that... nothing was the same anymore. As if in less than a month, he was living a completely different life from the one he'd had at the Institute all along. Enemies were friends, some that felt right, like the Brotherhood, whom he'd always thought they should be allied with, some that felt wrong, like Gambit and Pyro. His brother and he were closer now, but things were undeniably different there, since Alex's confession and his own idiot response– he knew he had a lot of proving to do before the kid would really feel comfortable with him again. And Jean... God. He didn't even care about it anymore. Everything was all wrong. 

He just wanted his life to feel... normal.

He laughed, as he undressed for bed. Normal. He was a 19-year-old guy who had uncontrollable energy beams that shot out of his eyes any time he opened them. 

"Normal" shouldn't even be in his vocabulary. 

_Better suck it up and deal, Summers. Suck it up and deal._

* * *

He hadn't expected her to call. And judging from the look on her face when he'd shown up, picking leaves out of his hair from the bush he'd used to cushion his impact (he was getting a lot better, he'd been able to effectively land safely for months now if he focused, but he was a little distracted, at the moment.) She didn't look unhappy to see him. Or sorry she'd called. 

She just looked... tired. And sad. She definitely looked really sad.

He really hadn't given it any thought, when she'd called. She'd tried to hang up on him almost immediately, and he'd actually thought she would do it, for a minute. But as quickly as she'd decided she didn't want to talk, she suddenly opened up, and admitted that she was panicking from the nightmares, and the news of her father's capture, which was all over the Institute by now. Sam had tried to call her, but Lance had told him she was gone out somewhere. And he figured Pietro, who he knew was there when Gambit and Pyro had made their grand entrance, would've told her anyhow. 

Wanda hadn't asked Sam to come over. She'd just admitted that it had happened again, and he'd informed her that he was on his way. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, or where the hell he'd gotten the guts from to do it. But as he watched her slow, heavy movements as she closed the door behind him and pulled him into the dark foyer at the Brotherhood Boarding House... he was damn glad he had.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing out of her mouth, after the door was shut. "I shouldn't have gotten you out of bed–,"

"I wasn't asleep," he lied, smiling at her– he hoped brightly. The light was so low, he could only just make out the contours of her face in the yellow glow from the light in the hall upstairs. But even in that light... so tired. 

"I feel like an idiot. I don't know what I expect you to do for me...," she turned away and started walking into the living room. 

He grabbed for her hand, before she could get too far, and caught it. "We'll think of something. To take your mind off things."

Slowly, she turned back to face him. Her eyes looked down, to his hand holding hers, and then back up, to his eyes. And she nodded. "Maybe. But I can't concentrate very well right now, Sam..."

"Course you can't," he kept smiling, as he searched his mind furiously for something that might keep her occupied, but didn't require too much focus. He didn't have a plan coming in here, he'd just jumped out the window and come. Just wanted to see her. Wanted to be here with her. Hell, maybe he could even get her to talk a little. But then, he felt the proverbial lightbulb come to life over his head, as he remembered a request she'd made, almost a week ago. "Hey, what about that hair cut? You said I was shaggy the other day, and I said I'd let you cut it, remember?"

A smile threatened to appear on her face, the corners of her mouth twitching just slightly upward. "You were serious?"

He shrugged, "I don't care. Anyhow, you'd probably do something cool with it. Just don't dye it blue, my mother would kill me."

The smile finally appeared, and even if it looked tired, he felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight of it. "I'll see what I can do."

~~

Sam looked upward, at the ceiling in the kitchen of the Brotherhood house, trying futilely to see what exactly Wanda was doing to his hair. The more he thought about it, the more he though this might not have been the best idea. But then again, what good was hair if it didn't impress your girlfriend.

Not that Wanda was his girlfriend...

Oh man, what was he doing, thinking about stuff like that at a time like this? Wanda had so much on her mind, and here he was acting like an idiot, wondering where their relationship stood. He mentally kicked himself in the ass, and decided to try and get her talking. "So... uh, you feeling ok now?"

"Yes," she said, as she ran her fingers through his now wet hair. She'd already made a few snips, mostly in the back, and the few glimpses he'd had of her face gave him the impression that she was fully into her project. Which was what he'd been hoping for, of course. "It doesn't last that long, but when I first wake up, I can't even move."

"I know what you mean," he had to make a concentrated effort not to nod at her as he spoke, "Same thing happens to me when I get nightmares. Or even just weird dreams. Cold sweat..."

"The works," she agreed, voice low, but somehow echoing in the empty downstairs of the huge house. Not another soul appeared to be awake. "I've never been afraid before, that I can remember. Except for being afraid for Magneto, during the Apocalypse..."

Sam chewed at the inside of his cheek, and wondered if he should ask. They'd never spoken about her father before, and all he knew is that she suddenly went from hating him to wanting to save him, and it was thanks to Magneto somehow screwing up her memories of him. A far cry from the bustling Guthrie family– they never had much money, but they lived a normal, loving family life. They always had each other. And he honestly questioned his ability to ever understand Wanda on this level because of it. Not that he would change his family, not for anything in the world, but it did make her situation difficult to understand, to say the least. 

And volatile didn't begin to explain her reaction to most things family related, even now. Including her arrogant speedster twin. But, considering the days events, which he was sure had something to do with her finally deciding to pick up the phone and call him... he figured she probably had something to say about her family, tonight. "You scared for him now?"

She was quiet for a moment, and he felt her messing with his hair, heard her snipping away at it. 

His heart was in his throat. He knew it wasn't more than a few seconds of silence, but it felt like an eternity, as he sat there. With Wanda Maximoff holding a sharp projectile over his head. 

"Kind of," she finally spoke, and he let out a long release of air that he could only pray hadn't been audible. "But I don't know why I should give a fuck. He didn't do shit when Pietro was taken by Sinister, why should we do shit now, even if we could?"

"Did he know when Pietro was kidnapped?"

Another silence.

Another lump in his throat. Had he asked the wrong thing? Well, he couldn't hope to bat 1000, he supposed, but he desperately needed to say the right things to her tonight. Wanted her to be happy she'd called, to feel better about things in the morning, even if just a little. Wanted to make her life easier, better, somehow...

"I don't think so. Gambit didn't tell him. He said he didn't know where to find him."

Well, there was nothing to say to that really. Nothing that wasn't obvious. 

"But he would've known if he hadn't abandoned us. Again. So fuck him."

Sam closed his eyes, and fought to keep from shaking his head as she snipped away at it. He couldn't imagine ever saying something like that about his own father– but he could imagine saying it about hers. So maybe he _could _understand. But this was just a little too coincidental, in his mind, the way things were coming together. First, Wanda starts having nightmares. Then she finds out that her father has been taken away by a man who wanted them for genetic experimentation, maybe a week later...

A week later.

"Wanda, when did the nightmares start?" He asked suddenly, as something began to take shape in his mind.

"I guess... a week ago?"

"Gambit said he and Pyro hid out for almost a week before Pyro was too weak to fight him anymore and he brought him to us, finally..."

"Which means," she finished for him, the snipping noise suddenly coming to a halt over his head, "That they started right about the time that everything with Magneto went down..."

"Weird, huh?" Was about all he could say. Hard to believe that it could mean anything, but it was a pretty screwed up coincidence...

"Pietro is having dreams too," she began snipping again, suddenly. 

Ok. Now _that _was just pushing it over the limit. "The same ones?" He asked, hoping he didn't sound too disbelieving. It wasn't that he didn't believe, of course. It was just that... damn. Something was going on here, and he could see it, part of it... but it was only half of it, he knew...

"I don't know. Jean-Paul is the one who told me."

"You didn't ask?"

"Have you _met _my brother, Sam?" Her sarcasm was so thick he could taste it.

And it made him smile. Now that was his Wanda. "Good point. Maybe you should though. It has to mean something, I just have a feeling about it..."

"You know... it's really fucked up that you say that, because I think it does too. I mean... when we were little, in Transia, I remember that we both had really weird dreams. About these like... animal-people. And our parents, our adopted parents, used to tell us to be quiet about it. Not to talk about those kinds of things where people could hear us. We were really little, when it was happening, we went to live with our father when we were five or six. I can barely remember. And it feels like these are the same dreams, you know? Like... like they're memories mixed with dreams.... Jesus I sound like a fucking head-case–,"

"No," he stopped her, instantly. He was startled by the amount of personal background that had just come out of her mouth– more than she'd uttered in the entire tenure of their association all crammed into the last minute and a half. And he was glad to hear it, thought it was good for her, wanted to know about it. But he didn't want her to think that it made her insane. Wanda may have been a lot of things, unstable included, but she was not insane. And if she ever was, she'd had her reasons. "No, it doesn't sound crazy. In fact, it sounds like you and Pietro need to talk about this, if it's happening again. I mean... don't you think that's a really weird coincidence? Not just the two of you having these dreams about... Transia, but the fact that they started when your father was taken by a man who tried to kidnap you and your brother?"

Silence for a little while, as she chopped away at his hair. The whirr of the scissors almost seemed joyful really, it was so clean and quick. The whole house was quiet, other than that, and it would've been oppressive... if he hadn't been so involved in the machinations of this thickening plot. "He wanted us for our genes, not just because we were twins. Mostly twins, with the bonus of being _Magneto's_ twins. But if he was trying to lure us to him, he is a complete fuckwit– he didn't exactly leave his address, if what Pietro said was true. And he sure as hell picked the wrong hostage to hold."

"True," Sam admitted. "And one knows where Magneto is, at the Institute. I didn't see Gambit or anything, but Bobby and Berto told me everything they knew– they were there when Gambit and Pyro came in."

"Then what the fuck is he doing...?"

He let a small sigh escape him, and realized that he simply had no idea. It was there, something that had to be tying this together, he could _feel _it at the edge of his mind. But something was missing, and he couldn't see it. "I don't know... but whatever it is, maybe you and Pietro can figure it out."

"Pietro," she scoffed, suddenly putting the scissors down on the table beside them, and running her hand through his hair, so that he could feel it going in all different directions. His head felt remarkably lighter, though, and when he looked down at the ground, he saw a huge pile of his own golden hair under the chair he was sitting in. She came around to the front of him, ducked down to eye level (he politely kept his eyes locked onto hers when he noticed the advantageous angle that put her at, so that her cleavage was a little too evident to avoid completely, and his ears started to burn) and cocked her head at him, quizzically. 

And then, she smiled. Her eyes were sunken, her movements slow, but she smiled at him for the second time tonight. And damn if it wasn't the best feeling he'd ever had, just looking at her like that. "You look hot, Crash."

With that pronouncement, his ears _really _started to burn. "You're teasin' me."

"No shit," she stood up straight, "Go look in the mirror. If I weren't so tired, I'd jump you here and now."

He swallowed hard, and tried to keep the idiot grin from taking control of his face completely. Something told him that he wasn't "hot" in the least. He'd never been hot, and he never would be, as far as he was concerned. Wanda, she was hot. 

But he wasn't going to argue with her, if she wanted to think he was too. That was for damn sure. Particularly not if it was going to elicit that kind of reaction from her.

* * *

She wasn't sorry that she'd called.

As soon as she'd hung up the phone, she'd been sure she'd just made the stupidest mistake of her life. Hell, as soon as he'd _answered _the phone, she'd thought that. But now, here he was, acting like it was no big deal that she'd dragged him out of bed at eleven PM, that it was now 2AM and he was laying on the couch in the living room with her, running his fingers through her cropped hair gently, while she tried to fall asleep.

It wasn't so bad, letting him do it. 

Or maybe she was just too tired, too exhausted, more like it, to care. But she liked it. She liked the feeling of him against her, his front to her back. His arm pillowing her neck, underneath, his fingers in her hair. Felt warm and kind of dreamy... like she was swimming through something very thick. 

She didn't really want to go to sleep. But she didn't have much of a choice. The moment they'd sat down and turned on the TV, she knew that she needed to lay down. Her head was just so heavy. So she'd commanded that he stretch out and move over, and he'd complied with his usual amount of alacrity. She'd already learned that if she told Sam to jump, he would ask how high– assuming that the request was a reasonable one. Of course, she'd never ask anything unreasonable of him, which might've had a lot to do with his willingness to comply. He'd shown his backbone to her more than once, standing there during her fits with Pietro, grinning at her when she got mean with him. He wasn't scared of her.

He just liked to be with her. Do things for her.

Was it really so bad if she let him? Was she such a weak woman for telling him all of those things?

No. She knew it, she wasn't. It had been smart. Because now that she'd spoken to someone with a little more lucidity than she was possessed of herself, at the moment... she had to admit that things were just a little too fucking coincidental. Wanda was a huge believer in coincidence, of course. She didn't believe in fairy godmothers or guardian angels or even god, for that matter. 

But sometimes, things seemed to be happening for a reason. Something was driving her to think of her past, from all directions.

The only problem was... when she thought of it, sometimes it made her lose focus entirely. Like she was forgetting something... or like her entire past was a dream– fragile and translucent. 

Sam stopped petting her hair now, and slid his arm down, over her waist, and his hand hung just at her stomach. His lips were close to her ear, and she felt a strange, warm sensation that started there, and spread through her entire body pleasantly as he whispered, "I'll stay until you're asleep."

"You don't have to go," she heard herself mumble, as if it wasn't her saying it at all. She could feel him next to her, against her, all over her. But it was almost like she was outside of it, looking at them. "It's late."

She felt him smiling, against her ear. Pictured it, in her mind, since she couldn't see him. And her eyes had somehow gone closed anyhow, though she couldn't remember making a conscious decision to close them. Crooked, stupid, idiot smile. Bright blue eyes, more intelligent than anyone would ever guess, if they didn't take the time to look into them. And he really did look hot as hell, with his hair short and messy like that, cut close to his head and going every which way... "If I fall asleep with you, I'll never want to get up."

She wanted to smile at him, but couldn't. So she covered his hand with hers, and pressed it to her stomach, surprised again at the warmth in him. Sleepily surprised. Wanda was so far gone at that point that she couldn't imagine what "surprise" really was. 

Just... so tired. 

She didn't want to fall asleep. Sleep was where she was haunted.

But it was warm and safe here... where was she again? Did it matter? 

No. Just warm. Safe. Not scared anymore.

* * *

Jean-Paul Beaubier sat straight up in bed when he heard that scream.

Not really a scream... more like a yelp or a... a... 

_Jesus, where the fuck am I?!_

He looked around, and slowly realized that he was in Pietro's room. And that noise had come from Pietro himself, who was presently curled up into a startlingly small ball beside him, with the covers pulled over his head. 

Instinctively, still not quite awake, Jean-Paul slid down in the bed, and burrowed through the covers until he came into contact with his friend's bare back. He put himself against Pietro, his front to the other boy's back, and slid an arm around him, put his lips against the back of Pietro's neck, and kissed him lightly. He felt so warm, as if he'd been running, as if his skin were flushed there in the dark, and he just couldn't see it. Jean-Paul slid his hand carefully up Pietro's stomach, to his chest, and gently attempted to uncurl him from his fetal position, pushing him back against his own chest, holding him tight against him. He didn't necessarily want to wake him up– Pietro needed to sleep. But he was starting to shake, just a little, and Jean-Paul's heart was speeding up, in a strange kind of sympathetic panic reaction. 

God. Oh god, what was he dreaming of, to make him so... afraid. He could feel it, smell it, all around Pietro. Fear. Panic. Something was wrong, so wrong. 

"Pietro," he finally whispered, pulling him even closer. "Pietro, it's ok..."

Was it? How could he say that when he didn't know what the fuck was happening in the first place?

Pietro suddenly went rigid in his arms, and took a very deep, labored breath. 

Jean-Paul froze, heart thudding as if it would break out of his rib cage at any moment. 

"Ah fuck... it happened again..."

Jean-Paul started to ask him what, but found himself shocked into silence when Pietro suddenly flipped over, pushed himself against Jean-Paul entirely, front to front, and buried his face in his neck. 

Without kissing him. Without provoking him. Just... touching him. Touching him all over. Warm and shaking and so solid. But it felt surreal. As if it wasn't really happening, for some reason. 

"I gotta go talk to Wanda," came a muffled voice from his neck.

"Ok," Jean-Paul replied automatically, "I can go."

"No."

He swallowed, and finally managed to put his arm back around the other boy, and hold him a little closer. _Dieu_, he loved the feeling of him. Even now that it was familiar, he loved it. Hard and real and dizzying, smooth and warm and so fucking beautiful. It almost hurt, really. "I can wait, then."

"No. You gotta come," Pietro pulled his face out of Jean-Paul's neck, and looked him in the eye.

Jesus. He looked... scared. 

"She'll kill me."

For obvious reasons, this confused the Canadian boy. "Why would she kill you?" 

"Magneto had her mind fucked with," Pietro breathed, quickly, "So that she wouldn't remember that he locked her away for ten years and that she hates him for it and she hates me too because he didn't lock me away. So now that she can't remember anymore she doesn't want to kill him, but before she kept trying and she almost killed me too a few times and I don't want her to hate me but if we talk about these dreams it might make her remember things and I don't want to die." 

Jean-Paul allowed himself a deep breath and a moment of introspection to sort out what, exactly, Pietro was trying to tell him. And finally, gave up. "Wait... you knew that her head had been fucked with, and that she didn't know the truth... but you never told her?"

"She was trying to kill me!"

Still... damn Pietro was dodgy. If he wasn't so goddamn amazing half the time, Jean-Paul might've held it against him. But he had to admit, at the moment very little would've made him turn his back on this boy in bed with him. Nothing short of an act of god, really. "You want me with you?"

"Yes. She listens to you. She loves you."

True, he and Wanda were friends. But he hardly thought that his presence would contain her rage, if what Pietro was afraid of began to happen. 

A fact that did not, of course, mean he was going to make Pietro do it alone. "Alright then. Let's go talk to Wanda."

  
  
  
  


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: My sincerest apologies if anyone is getting eight thousand emails informing you that I updated today... I did... once. And once a week ago. FF.N is all having issues however (which is why I couldn't see the reviews for the last chapter forever and oh man was I *pissed!*) Seems to be cleared up now. Let's hope, and good luck to those poor tech people. God knows the traffic on this site must be unsightly. Quickie shout-outs on this one, since I'm rushed this evening. 

_Taineyah_: Again, you are too kind to me ;) But yes, more Jean-Paul. God, please, more Jean-Paul.

_amura_: Why thank you! Here, have some more!

_crazyspaceystracey: _A few notes 1- I'm not into Brad Pitt either, but honestly, the man is a really versatile actor. And looks good with his shirt off. 2- I'm glad you liked the car alarm. They needed a moment to laugh, I figured. 3- Thank you so much for being so kind as to review even though ff.n was eating reviews all week. You're a doll.

_Relwarc_: Again, thank you so much. I was a bit concerned about the slowness factor... same goes for this chapter. But there is so much shit to hit the fan, I am losing my mind trying to set it up properly. Cause once it flies, there will be no coming back... keep me apprised of the situation if it does not improve, if you think of it again! The little mentions and bits about the "lesser" characters I do try to squeeze in, or they just occur naturally, and I'm pleased that they don't seem out of place or forced. It does make me wonder at times!

_Cyberpilate_: It appears that we're in the same boat, my friend. I started writing for JP/Pietro, and I somehow got carried away into Angel/JM land ;) I'm really glad that you appreciated it, I think the couple is beautiful, and not just because of their pretty faces. And yes, we've all had that person we adore from afar... bless Todd's slimy little heart!

_Risty: _First off, you emailed me, which was effing amazing. And second, I'm so glad you liked the characterization. I feared Angel would cause some issues for canon fans... but like you said, welcome to Evolution! You're amazing, thanks for the encouragement! And dude... Wow, JM *did* totally jump Warren's bones! haha, that rocks!

_Caliente_: Yay, you think they're cute! JM/Warren makes me so happy. I'm freaking goofy for them. As for Gumbo, as you can see, he *did* come back in ch 5... *This* is ch. 5. First one didn't count. Well, it's ch.5 by my count! I suppose that's a technicality, but... yeah I should've been clearer! And yes... 616 Toad... oh god... *shiver* So creepy how he followed them around for so long...

_The Rogue Witch_: I dunno if it's Jean's fault entirely... I just don't know. I mean, that happens when people move away I guess. Sad but true. Even if they don't go far. As for boiling water, I mastered that early... it's everything after that gives me pause...

_Shaman Dani_: Woot, you like the new random pairing! Nice to hear from you, and hope you're enjoying!

If anyone else reviewed and I missed you here, forgive me please. FF.N difficulties have been messing with my review page, everyone's review page, hardcore. What to do? 

And a big giant "OMFG YOU ROCK" to Sue Penkivech-- not only a brilliant beta, but the goddess of Hank dialogue. The above was possible thanks to her. /bow.

3 -Beaubier-


	7. Confessions and Plans

Chapter Six: Confessions and Plans

"Fuck, she's not in here."

Pietro glared around his sister's empty room, irritated. Irritated, and still scared. 

It hadn't even been a nightmare, really. Just... something about how _real _everything was. It had been raining, in the dream, and he still felt wet, cold from it. Just thinking about that storm, he felt chills down his spine, his skin reacting with goose bumps. Not freezing, just chilled to the bone. The kind of cold that seeps in with the water and settles down for days. That gets into the blood, and won't be drawn out. His skin was warm. But inside, he was so cold.

He shivered, and tried not to think about it anymore. It was just a dream, after all. 

But something about the past was calling to him. He felt it now, so plainly. He'd been a complete idiot not to think of it before, but with the news of his father– of Magneto disappearing with the Marauders... it had to mean something. And the dreams were just getting more and more real. Scarier and scarier.

And where the fuck was Wanda, anyhow?! 

"She must've been dreaming too, maybe she got up to have a drink?" Jean-Paul offered from behind him, in strangely subdued tones.

Pietro had a feeling that JP was only mostly awake– not entirely. He was barely awake himself, having spent the past week or more in such a sleep deprived funk that made every day seemed endless and every night eternal. But Jesus, it was good to know that Jean-Paul was with him.

He'd never been so goddamn scared of anything as he was of Wanda. He knew it, he'd known it since the first day that idiot Mystique had brought her to the house. Wanda was nuts, plain and simple. He'd adored her, worshiped her as a child. But she had just gone nuts. She hadn't been when they'd locked her away, of that he was certain, but she'd sure as fuck come out that way. 

It was a very physical fear too. In his stomach, in his heart, under his skin, in his muscles. Everything in him was getting ready to run. Fast. And not stop. 

_OhgodwhatifImakeherremember?_

"Yeah, ok. Downstairs."

Silently, Jean-Paul followed him down the dark stairway, into the foyer. The house was dead. Dead and quiet. _Nope, she's not down here. Definitely not, bettergobackup–_

But Pietro stopped, and held up a hand when he heard a voice coming from the living room. A decidedly _male _voice. And it wasn't Lance. Or Todd. Or Fred.

"Sam," Jean-Paul's eyebrows raised dangerously high as he said the name aloud, obviously just as surprised as Pietro that the younger boy was in the house.

Pietro pursed his lips, a sudden flash of indignation tearing through him for just a moment. What the fuck was Sam doing here at four in the morning anyhow? Jesus Christ, couldn't he keep his paws off of Wanda for long enough to let her get some goddamn sleep? And who the hell said he was allowed in here at night anyhow? That was it, of course, he'd just have to string the kid up and spin him around and use him as a Kentucky fried pinata at his next party, because this was just ridiculous, finding him here like this– 

"In here," The New Mutant's voice called, softly from the next room, cutting into Pietro's mental tirade. 

And bringing him back to himself a bit. Christ. So what if Sam was here? Really. Not like they were in bed or something together–

_Oh. Oh bad mental image. _So _bad. _

Pietro exchanged a quick glance with his best friend, whom he finally noticed was looking rather unkempt, for him. His eyes were puffy and his hair was utterly wrecked, sticking up at odd angles in the back. Jean-Paul nodded toward the living room, and Pietro nodded back, then led the way in. Sam Guthrie was on his couch, alright. And Wanda was beside him, turned sideways so that her legs were thrown over his lap, her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. Sam had his arms around her, protectively. Like someone would come and take her away if he wasn't extremely vigilant about it.

Pietro considered it. But decided against it when Wanda looked up, and blinked at him. 

He just stared at her. Because Jesus, she looked bad. Bad as in upset. Bad as in totally fucking wrecked from the inside out. 

_Fuckfuckfuckcan'tdothisdon'twannadie_.

Jean-Paul gave him a little push with one hand, sending him toward the couch and snapping him out of his fearful trance. Something Pietro couldn't see passed between the two X-Men, and Sam nodded to JP once, then whispered something into Wanda's ear. 

Wanda narrowed her eyes, but nodded. And then started staring. At Pietro. Who stood there, only feet from the couch now, as Sam and Wanda disentangled themselves from each other, and Sam retreated into the kitchen, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he went. Totally oblivious to the glare Pietro shot him as he left.

Which was probably good, since Pietro wasn't really sure why he was glaring anyhow. Obviously Sam had done a good thing. Wanda was probably dreaming too and she was probably scared and Jesus he was such a shitty brother. Hadn't always been like that, they used to be friends, used to do everything together, used to know what each other were thinking and finish each others' sentences and all that twin stuff but now they barely even talked and when they tried something bad always happened and this time oh god it was gonna be so bad....

Wanda was looking at him. Sitting there on the couch, in the dark, looking at him. Jean-Paul was standing behind him, starting to back away. 

He turned quickly, and stared him down. 

_Don'tyouleavemeherewithherJean-Paul_.

Jean-Paul nodded, as if he'd heard the words echoing now in Pietro's head, and leaned in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Like he was standing guard.

Good enough. For now. 

There was no excuse now. He had to do it. Had to do _something_.

He looked back to her, still staring at him. She looked scared, in a very... Wanda way. But not of him. Scared of... he couldn't imagine what. Did she feel it too, the same irrational, jarring terror he did when he woke? Once a night, sometimes twice. Did she really understand?

Scared. Sweat. Stomach. Lie. Run. Touch. Ask. Beg. Confess.

He swallowed hard, and started to speak to her. But not in English. For the first time since he'd come back to the United States two years ago, Pietro spoke in his native tongue. ::What do you remember?::

Wanda's eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened, slightly. He could see it all on her face– for the first time since she'd come out of that asylum, her thoughts were perfectly clear to him. Like they used to be, so long ago. 

She remembered that much. She'd understood him. 

"What... you're speaking...," she stuttered, still staring.

"Romani," he finished, knowing that was the best way to describe it, for his purposes. If he was lucky, that would refresh her memories... but nothing since they'd come to live with their father in the US, when they were just little kids. Anything after that was probably damaged goods, but Wanda hadn't heard Romani spoken in probably...

Jesus. Ten years? Probably more. Magneto always made them speak English. Didn't want them standing out, if they were ever around other kids, having an accent to make them sound different. Make them a target. He told them to be proud of who they were, but he made them speak English. The man never did make a lot of sense. They were young, they'd learned fast, but Wanda always used to get in trouble for switching into Romani when it was just the two of them. She'd get caught, and they'd both get into trouble... shit. Ages ago. So long ago.

It was a miracle she remembered at all. 

"You haven't spoken to me in Romani since...," her smooth brow suddenly furrowed, and she seemed to be concentrating hard. She wasn't looking him in the eye anymore, but staring at his chest. Right through his chest. 

Quickly, he moved to her side, sat on the couch, and started to talk. Couldn't let her think too much, just had to get it out, figure their shit out, and not let her thing too much. Nothing after Transia. Don't let her think about what happened with Magneto and how much they'd hated living with him and how she'd told him one day they wanted to go home and he'd told her no and she'd flipped out and the roof had come crashing down–

_Nope. Not gonna think about that at all._

"Since we were kids. But you remember?"

"How can you still speak it? I can hardly understand you..."

Shit. Shitshitshit. "Fast mind," he tapped his temple, pulling his legs up under him and turning to face her. 

"I'm not crazy am I?" She asked, slowly. "You're dreaming too. Jean-Paul told me."

Part of him wanted to kiss his best friend for that. Most of him. But part of him still wanted to deck him. "Yeah. Same ones. From..."

She nodded, "When we were little."

He nodded back, "Right. So if you're crazy, I am."

Which, of course, meant that he was crazy. But it wasn't as if he hadn't figured that out on his own already. 

"What does it mean?"

Pietro thought about that for a moment. And decided that if he didn't get some sleep soon, he really wasn't going to be doing a lot of serious thinking for a very long time. Because it was starting to hurt. "It means... I don't know."

"Sam thinks that it's all connected. To Magneto. The dreams started for me about when..."

"He would've been nabbed by those Marauder motherfuckers," Pietro could've smacked himself. Of course! Jesus, what an idiot he was for not seeing it!

Of course... it could've been a coincidence.

But... 

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were having nightmares?"

He looked up at her, in utter shock. "Are you kidding? Are you fucking joking, Wanda?"

"No! If you'd said something–,"

"Me?!" He could not _believe _that she would make this into _his _problem! _She _was the unapproachable one, the one who would end up hexing you to the floor in uncomfortable positions if she so much as heard one word she didn't like out of you! "Why didn't _you _say something? Jesus, you've been so pissed off you didn't even notice–,"

"Oh yeah, Pietro, because you're a really attentive brother, you always notice–," she was rolling her eyes at him now.

"Hey, I notice! Remember last time you were sulking I followed you up to your room just to ask what was wrong with you!"

She was quiet then, for a minute. Staring at him, in the dark.

Indignation suddenly drained out of him, and fear came rushing back in, in a tidal wave. Oh Jesus. Now he'd done it. Now she was going to get mad, and think about Magneto, and her mind was finally going to crack because god knew it was unstable anyhow and holy fucking hell at least Jean-Paul was still over there and maybe he could fly away and come back and find Pietro's body in the mess once the damage was done...

But all she said, after that silent minute, was, "You did."

Now, it was Pietro's turn to be quiet. That was _not _the reaction he'd expected. Where was the screaming? Where was the hexing? Where was the pain? 

"Yeah," he finally managed to squeeze out, after a minute, with something like his usual cockiness. He hoped. "I did. That's right."

"Fine then, what can we do about this?"

Pietro considered, mind whirring at light speed. What were their options? "First off, we need to figure out if any of this has to do with Magneto."

"I have a feeling...," she started, eyeing him carefully. She didn't finish her sentence. 

But she didn't have to. Because looking at her, looking at him, he knew. This was about Magneto, even if not directly. Something about the past... it was coming to haunt them. "Why now?" He asked, without bothering to explain himself. She had to understand. 

She shook her head, "Of all times? I don't know, Pietro. But we have to assume it has something to do with... our _father_," the last word was almost a hiss.

He had to hold back the shiver that crept up his spine when he heard it. That tone of voice... that was definitely pre-mind-fuck Wanda talking. She used to say _everything_ like that. Like the way she used to growl his name when she was mad, low in her throat. _Pietrooo..._

But he had been right. She understood. This was happening for a reason, and they both knew it. And it was something about Transia and cow-women and tiger-men and gypsies and magic and castles and...

Christ. His childhood was a goddamn Hans Christian Andersen story. 

But it was his. And it was back. No denying it. Maybe if he went to Transia he could...

Pietro looked over at Jean-Paul, quickly, and saw the darker boy watching him, backlit in the kitchen doorway. Dark and serious. And worried. 

"Sam and I should be getting back," he suddenly spoke, jarring the strange image of the silent guardian statue Pietro had created for him in his head. "I have an early meeting, and he has training. Are you two alright?"

"Yeah," Wanda spoke before Pietro could protest. He really didn't think he was ready to be alone with her. Wanted him to stay. Just a little while...

"Yeah, we're fine," she finished. "Thanks JP."

He came over to them and leaned down, to kiss Wanda on the forehead. It was a genuine, brotherly action, but for some reason it surprised Pietro. She looked up at him and smiled, and he smiled back, then looked over at Pietro. "I'll come over after the meeting. Whatever we learn, you'll be the first to know, both of you."

Pietro just nodded, still stunned from that strangely protective, caring moment he'd just seen pass between his sister and his best friend. He'd never really noticed before but... JP was a really nice guy. Well, that was dumb, of course he was, if he could put up with Pietro. But... he must be a good brother. Or something. That looked so... natural for him. 

Pietro eyed his sister, feeling hopelessly inadequate for a moment. It was a feeling he was not familiar with processing. But her eyes were now on Sam, who was coming out of the kitchen, hands still stuffed into his pockets. Pietro was grateful that the redneck kid had stayed out of the way while he was trying to talk to Wanda– JP already knew pretty much everything there was to know about him. But Sam finding out that he was... well... scared of his own sister; that would've been totally unacceptable.

Of course, the X-Kid probably _already _knew. But all those other fights, those weren't serious. This was... important. Not for public display. And Sam, in his book, was definitely still "the public." JP was more like... part of things. Or something.

Whatever, he was just glad Sam was out of his way. 

Guthrie looked like he might come over to them, for a minute, but he stopped about halfway across the living room, and looked over at Pietro. Then back to Wanda. And obviously decided it was better to save his romantic intentions for later, as he said, "I'll... talk to you later, ok?"

Wanda nodded, and replied, "I'll meet you at the shop. Five o'clock."

He smiled at her, crooked and idiotic, and turned to follow Jean-Paul out the door without another word. 

And Pietro turned back to his sister. Who had her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. For a minute, he panicked as he thought she was crying. But her breathing was steady, and her shoulders didn't shake at all. No, she was just tired. Not crying. It was going to be ok... That's what JP had said, wasn't it?

"It's gonna be ok," He mumbled, more to himself than to her. 

* * *

"They need to talk," Jean-Paul explained, about as emotionally drained as he could ever remember being in his life. "And neither of them will be totally honest with us around. Pietro would probably say anything in front of me, just because he's scared shitless of Wanda, but not in front of you. And Wanda... she needs him right now. And she won't let me see her need someone."

Sam nodded, slowly. Jean-Paul noticed, thankfully, that the younger boy hadn't even bothered to ask why they were walking home. The truth was that JP needed a walk. It was cold outside, a chilly late fall morning. Today would be Halloween. The moon was low and orange, the sun wouldn't be long in coming up now. Foggy and dark and windy. Perfect night for a horror film. 

Unfortunately, Jean-Paul wasn't really in the mood to indulge a flight of fancy. He hadn't wanted to leave. But he knew he had to. Knew they had to. He only hoped they could help each other, somehow. Though he couldn't imagine how. Perhaps... "How did you end up over there?"

"I told Wanda to call me if the dreams came again. She didn't for awhile. But tonight she did. So I... snuck out."

Jean-Paul shot him a sidelong glance, impressed. He wouldn't have expected it, but he felt a strange surge of... pride, almost. Yeah, this was the kind of guy he wanted for Wanda, and for Jeanne-Marie. Most definitely. He could only hope that Wanda would accept Sam's attempts to help... but it seemed as if she was learning to do just that, since she'd called. That was not a very... Wanda thing to do.

It wasn't a Jean-Paul thing either, though. So he could understand. Definitely. "Do you think they should talk to Xavier?"

"I told her she should, when I first found out last week," the blonde boy admitted, running a hand over his newly shorn locks, messing them up even further.

"The hair looks hot, by the way," Jean-Paul remarked, off hand. "When did that happen?"

"While we were talking," Sam grinned, "Thanks."

"How did you plan on explaining it to the others?"

Sam had obviously not considered this difficulty, and began chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "Dunno, really... guess I'll just..."

"Tell them I did it, they'll buy it," He offered, shrugging.

"True." 

"Brilliant. Amara's going to be all over you tomorrow, you realize. And possibly Alex."

"Alex...?"

"Anyhow," Jean-Paul continued, suddenly deciding he didn't feel like explaining that whole story to Sam tonight. Not that Alex would care– he'd told him in no uncertain terms that he didn't want to hide it from anyone at the Institute. Now that Scott and Ray knew, the hard part was done, after all. But there were more important matters at hand. "I don't know why they don't want to talk to him. Pietro said something about grown-ups and how he couldn't trust them and what had Xavier ever done for him. Something like that."

"I think the Prof worked with Wanda when she was... locked up, you know? I remember when she turned up, he said something about that. But she... she doesn't remember. Cause they..."

Jean-Paul glanced over at the younger boy, and saw him staring at the ground hard. Looking like it was _his _head who had been fucked with, not Wanda's. Looking sad and angry and... serious. Sam wasn't really a serious kid. Quiet, shy, but he always seemed to be smiling. 

God. He must really love her, already. "Yeah, Pietro told me," he admitted. "And no one has told her about it. Pietro thinks she'll go off and try to kill him again."

"She might," Sam shrugged. "But at least it'd be the truth. Still... not my place to tell her... I'm not even sure what to tell her anyhow. I don't know what happened, exactly, and that's not the kind of story you come to someone with half-ass. Half her life is missing, and from what I figure, what they put into her head is a hell of a lot better then what was there. I mean... it's not my choice to make... damn. Jean-Paul, when did things get so complicated? I mean, super villains, I can handle. But this..."

Yeah. Personal complications. What a bitch.

Jean-Paul shook his head, and looked up at the sky as they continued on their long walk home. He was surprised to find that he was glad for the company. But he still wished he hadn't had to leave. Even though he knew it was the right thing to do. For them. "Considering that we're a bunch of super-powered hyper-hormonal teenagers, _mon ami_, it's amazing it wasn't always like this."

* * * 

Warren Worthington glanced around the conference room once more, to take stock of the situation. And silently thanked whatever god was out there that he'd had yesterday alone with Jeanne-Marie, to make him remember why it was he had to do things like this. Because at the moment, he was _really _unhappy about pretty much everything in his life. 

Except for her. And that, he had to admit, was perfect.

She sat next to him, with her brother, stony-faced and cold-eyed, on her other side. He hadn't said two words all day, as far as Angel could tell. And he still didn't understand what the big deal was about the guy– he'd never even spoken to Warren since he and JM had been out together. Not that there had been much time, of course. He hadn't exactly made an effort to be friendly, but from what Warren understood, his _not _making an effort to be an asshole was Jean-Paul's way of being friendly. 

Kitty and Rogue sat next to him, about a quarter of the way around the table, also in uniform like the rest of the X-Men, signifying the official nature of this gathering. Kitty was sitting up straight, watching Cyclops for any sign that he was about to begin, and Rogue was eying Jean-Paul every now and then, looking worried, and the thief beside her, looking irritated, by turns. 

The thief. Warren had been surprised to find him here, to say the very least. But as soon as he heard the story, he knew it had hit the fan. And it just figured that Gambit would be the one to bear the news. That rat bastard was always there when everything went wrong, it seemed. Not to be trusted. Shouldn't be in this meeting. Shouldn't be near this room, or near this meeting, or near these girls, for the love of god. He was trying to be stealthy, but the way those unnerving red-on-black eyes kept fixing on Rogue was obvious– his interest in this meeting was not purely business. Which made all his motives suspect, as far as Warren was concerned. 

Kurt sat beside him, tail waving impatiently as he obviously fought to control his hyperactive urges. He was fighting a valiant fight, however, and was watching Scott with attention similar to that which Kitty was showing their leader. Storm and Wolverine were beside him, both looking calm and collected, aside from the occasional sniff from Logan, which made Warren have to suppress an undeniably juvenile urge to roll his eyes at the hairy man. Couldn't he be civilized for an official meeting even? And, as always, Professor Xavier sat, overseeing the whole gathering, between Wolverine and Cyclops.

Bobby sat to Warren's right, tapping a finger impatiently on the table, in a rather annoying rhythm. Warren shot him a look, and the younger boy narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, as if he would protest.

Luckily, Scott cut them off, as Jean took her seat between Cyclops and Iceman. "Ok people, this is what we're dealing with. We have Magneto kidnapped, or whatever we're calling it, by Sinister. We have Sinister involved in one of Worthington Industries' larger projects, at one time or another, ExGen. ExGen is presently, according to the in-depth report Angel received from them this week upon request, involved in various development projects that are not so mutant-friendly. Warren?"

Deep breath. Calm. _It's not your fault. You're making it better. _"The most obvious is the Mutant Detection System– the one Kitty and Jean saw advertised on a poster for an anti-mutant group at school. ExGen developed the technology that makes such things possible, even if the system itself isn't an ExGen project. Apparently it's been around for months now, and scientists in Canada have been working on a way to mask or change mutant genetic make-up, to protect themselves from just such an occurrence–,"

"Why should we hide?" 

Warren looked across the table at Gambit. A man he had not exchanged two words with, but already disliked. Almost to the point of disgust, really. "I didn't say that we should, I simply meant to point out that the technology has been around for long enough for someone to think of taking countermeasures."

Gambit just stared at him, hard, with those eerie glowing eyes of his.

Deep breath. _Come on, Worthington. Don't let him get to you. You can do this. You're the CEO_. "Other ExGen projects include the serum that was on the dart that infected Pyro– it slows the mutant capabilities for a period of anywhere from two to three weeks as well as diluting the blood– and they are working on another version of it altogether. I suspect it will make the use of mutant abilities impossible for a certain period of time, if it reaches its final stages of development. There is also a technology in development for a bracelet, that when attached to the mutant has such an effect."

"They have a bracelet that nullifies mutant powers?" Storm's voice was decidedly alarmed.

Warren nodded, solemnly, "Yes, that's what the report said. Or, at least, they're close to having one."

"They just sent you this report? With all this bad stuff in it?" Bobby asked him, brown eyes grown wide. "I mean, isn't that sh– er... that stuff like illegal?"

"It's not illegal," Jean shook her head, at Bobby's right, "Not where they are. They have several operations in eastern Europe, in fact. And even in the States, this kind of thing would probably be conveniently overlooked."

"And the report said things in much nicer terms," Warren sighed, thinking back on the report that had been waiting for him from ExGen when he'd returned from his perfect day with Jeanne-Marie. "They almost made it sound like they were doing these things to _help _mutants. A lot of things in the report about "Helping mutants who can't control their powers," and things like that. Said these things were used in hospitals for unfortunates like the mutant population, things like that. There was never a negative, outright anti-mutant sentiment expressed, even though it plays off the latent fears and myths held on to by the "educated" PC types, subversively."

"And your family supports this?" Came a sharp, French-accented voice from the other side of JM.

Warren fought not to snap back. Fought with the mixture of shame and indignance that started building in his stomach, then shot through his veins, heading him up from the inside out. 

He'd never had the best temper, really.

But this was business. Not personal. "This isn't about my family, Northstar."

"And you're just now finding this out? Are they doing this intentionally, or does your family not realize that their–"

"That their son is a mutant?" Warren cut him off, coldly, unable to stop himself this time. Who the hell launches a personal attack in the middle of a damn _business _meeting? "No, they don't."

Warren felt Jeanne-Marie's hand on his leg, suddenly. Warm and small. And strangely... calming. 

But his eyes were still locked with Jean-Paul's, and the Canadian X-Man was decidedly unimpressed with what he'd heard. JP was still staring him down with those eerily familiar icy blue eyes, one dark eyebrow raised in a challenge. A dare.

Warren gritted his teeth, hard, against an urge to reach across Jeanne-Marie and grab her smart ass of a brother by the neck. He really wasn't a violent man... but this was not a subject that was open for discussion. As if he didn't have enough to worry about, dealing with the guilt of it all, on his own. 

But Jeanne-Marie was there, and she understood. She squeezed his leg once more, and he felt the urge to throttle Jean-Paul seep out of him little by little, and finally looked away from him, back to the Professor, who was speaking now.

"Angel is right, Northstar," his calm, commanding voice mercifully interrupted their staring match. "The whys and wherefores are in the past, mistakes or not, and had little to do with Warren either way. Our aims would be best served by attempting to decipher what it is that Sinister wants with Magneto, and what we can do to shut down or contain ExGen."

"The question is, do we have proof enough of Sinister's involvement to shut them down at all?" Cyclops asked. "Their activities may feed straight into anti-mutant sentiments, but they've also done a lot of research to forward the collective knowledge of mutant physiology in the world, and can hide behind that. They're supposedly a totally unbiased corporation, and unless we can prove otherwise, send Warren in and get him to uncover something unethical, our hands our tied for the moment–,"

"It's Sinister," Jeanne-Marie suddenly spoke up, her hand curling into a fist on Warren's leg under the table now. He covered it with his own, instinctively. "You all didn't see his laboratory, inside. I did. I promise you now, whatever he's doing, it's unethical."

"_Ja_, I agree," Kurt was nodding. "I was only in there a minute, and I don't like to think of it."

"Yeah, it was totally creepy," Kitty chimed in, wrinkling up her nose and eyeing JM worriedly.

"And you know what he did to me and Pietro," Jeanne-Marie's voice was quiet, but steady. There was something about it, some undercurrent that demanded that all eyes in the room look to her, and listen to what she had to say. Warren saw Jean-Paul cover her other hand with his, where she was slowly clenching it into a fist to match the one Warren had covered himself. 

It surprised him. Jean-Paul was apparently quite a contradiction. 

"He started to experiment on us, and he knew what he was doing. He had the equipment, he had the methods. He has to be stopped."

"You're right, Aurora, you know we all agree with you," Cyclops said, solemnly. "But we don't know for certain that Sinister is still connected to ExGen. _That's _what we need proof of. Warren has volunteered to go over there, to company headquarters, and try to figure out what's going on– sort of undercover, but sort of not, since he's going as himself. But we've decided it might be the best way to really uncover what's happening from the inside out."

"Just so we're all clear," Jean-Paul said, slowly, still clutching his sister's hand protectively as she sat stone-faced between them. "What is the motivation here? To wipe out mutant experimentation and the _bad guy_, in this case Sinister? To rescue the X-Men's enemy, Magneto, or perhaps to find out what he's up to? Or to protect Worthington Industries from a bad investment?"

Red flashed behind Warren's eyes again, but he felt JM's small hand squeeze his leg, and he saw her other hand squeeze her brother's. With quite a different intention. Both actions seemed to calm him, once more. 

"To put it bluntly, Northstar," Jean raised her eyebrows at the Canuck, across the table, "Yes. Sinister needs to be stopped, and if we can use Angel's connections, all the better. And Angel wants to clean things up with Worthington Industries, and if he can use our help, all the better. It's good for us, and good for him."

"And Magneto?" Jean-Paul was practically glaring at the red-headed girl as she spoke. 

Warren furrowed his brow, irritated. Who gave a damn about that madman anyhow? He'd obviously been taken against his will, it wasn't as if he'd joined forces with Sinister...

Was it?

"He was definitely abducted, Gambit?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Kicking and screaming, _mon brave_," The Cajun drawled, leveling that unflinching, arrogant gaze at Warren over the table. "The man did _not _want to go."

"Well, we know our enemy then," Logan growled, leaning back in his chair and eyeing each of the X-Men by turn as he spoke. One by one. "We'll start the simulations tomorrow morning, before school. Every day. This is your last day of freedom– after today, you're mine. And we'll be ready for the Marauders, when the time comes. Angel, Gambit, you boys better be there too, if you're planning on sticking around, or being anywhere near us when the shit starts to fly. You're either in, or you're out."

Warren looked across the table at the dark figure of Gambit, in shock. The former Acolyte was actually being _invited along_?

"Count me in, M'sieu Logan," he crooned, unmoving.

"I'll be here," Warren promised, still astounded.

"In the meantime, Angel," The Professor cut into his shock with that cool voice again, "You and I will make arrangements for your visit to Eastern Europe– assuming you will be invited to travel there. The rest of you, dismissed. And I suggest you make good use of this beautiful day Logan has granted you. You might not get to enjoy another one for some time."

* * *

Jean tried to make her way unobtrusively out of the meeting, then out of the Institute. She still had a huge exam Tuesday, and she needed to get back and study, if she was going to be spending most of her mornings here for the next few weeks. She considered just bringing her belongings back and moving back into her old room for the time being, and commuting to school... 

But decided against it, ultimately. She wasn't entirely certain that she was ready to move back in with Jeanne-Marie Beaubier. Or Scott Summers. 

Not that she didn't love them, both of them. Just that... she wasn't exactly sure where she stood in the stupid teenage crush department. And either of those two could remind her all-too-quickly just who it was she was thinking of before she went to sleep. 

She'd thought that she'd kicked it. Thought that she wanted to work on making things right with Scott. But she... couldn't. 

Maybe she just didn't want to. Maybe the whole Scott thing was just because they had so much in common, their goals, their futures, their time as X-Men, the two oldest of the kids. Similar duties, similar paths. Maybe they should've just been friends all along. 

Not that Warren would be at all interested in her, even if she wasn't with Scott. 

But that wasn't the point. It had nothing to do with Warren.

Didn't it?

"Hey, Red," A low voice suddenly stopped her in her tracks halfway down the hall to the foyer. "What are you in such a hurry to get outta here for?"

Jean turned around to face Logan, who was eyeing her carefully. She told herself to relax, that the feral could smell any sign of discomfort or anger. And she didn't want him to ask about any of it. Stupid teenage problems. Sinister and Magneto were out there. And here she was, thinking about boys. "I just need to study, that's all."

"Well, listen," he started to walk now, side by side with her, toward the front door. "Chuck and I been talking, and we think it might be best if you had some company at school this week. Someone who would fit in, seem like a friend of yours just visiting."

A sort of righteous indignation she hadn't felt since Scott and Kurt had tried to interfere with the Sirens started to rise up in her now. "I can take care of myself, Logan. I'm not a little girl."

"No one thinks you are, believe me Jeannie," He sounded almost placating, if Wolverine could ever be said to. "But things could get out of hand real fast with that kind of activity up there. Just let someone come with ya tomorrow, and then the day after, maybe. Just while this _organizational meeting_ shit is happening."

Jean clenched her jaw once, hard. But when she looked over at the older man, she saw that his expression wasn't patronizing in the least. Just one of genuine concern. And she felt her posture relax, involuntarily.

"We're X-Men, Red," he growled at her. "We take care of our own."

Funny how expressive a growl can be, she thought, smiling in spite of herself. 

"I talked to some of the girls about it– I woulda sent Slim, but he has tests too this week. JM said she'd come tomorrow, Kit on Tuesday. Just to make sure you're not alone if things get ugly."

Tomorrow. And entire day with Jeanne-Marie, whom she'd been ducking all weekend... "Great," she forced out, suddenly back to her initial state of total irritation with the idea. "First class is at ten though. Can they miss school?"

"Charles can swing it. They both have straight As right now, so he wasn't hard to convince. I'd go myself, if I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. At least the girls won't attract too much attention."

Before she could stop herself, Jean rolled her eyes, "You've never been around Jeanne-Marie in a room full of men, obviously."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Logan looking her over, carefully again.

But she decided it would be better to avoid that glance for the time being, and get back to studying. She had a _long _week ahead of her. 

* * *

_The thing about Gambit_, Rogue was thinking, as she wandered through the back yard alone, _is that you just never know what the hell he'll do next. _

Unpredictable. Not in that temperamental Jean-Paul way. Not in that crazy Jeanne-Marie way. Not in that funny Kurt way. Not in that stupid little kid Bobby way. 

No, his unpredictability was pure Remy. 

She tried not to think of him like that– Remy. She knew damn well she shouldn't care about the man at all. He'd used her, after all. Followed her for weeks, learned her schedule, learned where she'd be and when and what was happening in her life, all just so he could use her. 

Part of her didn't want to believe that was all there was to it, of course. The part of her who had never had anyone care for her. Mystique, Irene. They just wanted to use her. And for some reason, the idea that Remy– Gambit, goddammit– was only after the same thing... she didn't want to believe it. Something about him. 

"Bit cold for a walk, _chere, non_?"

Before she could suppress it, she jumped. But didn't scream. So at least there was that. "How you been, Remy?"

She didn't even look up at him, as he fell in step beside her, smoking one of those blue-box Camels he always had. Turkish Royals or something. The smell of them reminded her of him. Quintessential Gambit smell. Rich tobacco and the dead smell of fall.

Of course, add the smell of the Louisiana swamp, and that pretty much said everything about the rat.

But she wasn't feeling particularly bitter about it, today. 

"Been better. Been worse," Was all he said, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Why'd you come here?"

He looked over at her now, and inhaled heavily on his cigarette. Thoughtful. "For Johnny."

"Where would you have gone if Pyro hadn't been hurt?"

"Cut to the chase, don't you?"

She met his eyes now, and stopped walking. He stopped with her, perfectly in synch. And she watched him for a minute. Red on black eyes, that didn't give a damn thing away. But once she'd looked at them, she knew she'd have a hard time looking away. Just like the first time.

Her cheeks started to flush, as she thought of it. Middle of a battle, and there she was, staring at this idiot Cajun like a love sick puppy. Almost lost her hand because of it. 

"Something wrong?" He raised an eyebrow at her, and smiled. 

Cocky bastard. She wanted to hate him. But she didn't. She knew it, because she started to smile too. "Gonna answer my question, swamp rat?"

He shook his head, and took another drag, then exhaled deeply to the side before answering. "Can't go back home. I told them I could, in there, but you know I can't. Don't really care much about Magneto– other than the fact that leaving someone to Sinister's mercy not exactly my idea of the right thing to do. Only place for me is here."

"We're just the backup plan?" She crossed her arms over her chest, and tried not to pay attention to how _good _the man looked. A pair of worn jeans and a white t-shirt under his trench coat. Square jaw. Straight nose. Mocking smile. Chiseled like he was made out of marble. Like he should be sitting in a museum somewhere. 

Looking at Remy LeBeau, she realized, was probably not a great idea, for a girl who couldn't touch anyone. Not that she _wanted _him, of course. Well, maybe she did, a little. But she didn't _trust _him, which was really the point. 

"No," He answered, smile fading from his features, "Not a backup plan. I gotta do something with myself, Rogue. And I talked to Xavier, last time. He offered. So I'm back, and I'm accepting."

"You're here to stay?" She felt a creeping sort of incredulity now. The idea of Gambit being there twenty-four-seven... definitely made her uncomfortable. 

He nodded, however, and continued smoking. "Here to stay. You like that idea?"

"Not really," she said, honestly. 

He looked over at her again, and she could see his disappointment. His face had barely changed, but for some reason, the sight cocking of one eyebrow, the tiny downward angles at the corners of his mouth, were easy enough to read. "Didn't want to hurt you, Rogue."

_Didn't want to hurt me_. 

"No one ever wanted to hurt me, Gambit," She answered, slowly, as the thought occurred to her. "But... everyone I let myself trust, ends up using me. Like I'm not a person. Like I'm just this vessel for these crazy powers. Except for the X-Men. So far. And you know, it ain't been all roses with them either. So I guess... I guess you'll just have to understand if I don't fall right into your arms."

Remy opened his mouth to reply, but she didn't want to hear it. None of his smooth talking, none of that sexy accent and silver tongue. She didn't want any of it, so she started walking away now, back toward the house. 

Blessedly, he didn't follow. But she could practically feel those glowing eyes burning into her, until she closed the door behind her, then leaned back on it, just for a minute. Just to catch her breath. 

Something about him definitely... affected her. Was it the way he looked at her, like no one else had ever looked at her before? Like she was something special? Hadn't be already proven that he was just like the rest of them, that he just saw her powers when he looked at her? But of all people, wouldn't he be the one to understand just how it felt to be used? His own father saw powers when he looked at Remy, didn't he? And why did he say... why did he give her...?

"Rogue? Are you alright?" 

With a short gasp of surprise, the mutant girl looked up, to see Scott Summers staring at her worriedly from behind his ruby shades. "Oh... Scott... yeah, I'm fine. I was just... talking to Remy."

"Remy, huh?" Slim raised one eyebrow and eyed her with mock-suspicion.

But she didn't much feel like laughing. Even if the expression was pretty cute– just like most of Scott's usually pitiful attempts at humor. "Scott... why is he allowed to join the X-Men?"

A deep breath, and Scott ran a hand through his hair, with obvious irritation. "I guess... well, the Professor says he's not a bad guy. Says that he was working for Magneto because he wanted mutants to be safe, but doesn't believe in the superiority complex any more than Colossus does. And he also says that Gambit is trustworthy. How the hell he gets that from _Gambit_, I don't know. But Logan's been sniffing around him all day, and he seems pretty relaxed about his presence now so...," He stopped there and gave a little laugh, then shook his head. "I'm rambling. Sorry. Anyhow, the point is, I don't know. I don't like him, or trust him. But... he deserves a chance, just like everyone else."

"I guess so," she mused, pushing off the door and starting toward the kitchen. It almost made sense... and if Logan didn't have a problem with him, chances were that his intentions were good. But why didn't he just stay with them in the first place? Was he really so intent on finishing the job he had promised to do for Magneto? And if so, didn't that bode well for the X-Men, if he was truly that loyal? Unless the loyalty was really to Magneto, exclusively...

He followed. "All we can do is sit back and wait, I suppose. And deal with him in the meantime. Are you... ok with him being here?"

She looked back over to Scott, and blinked a few times before answering. "Yeah. I mean... it's fine. Well, it's not, I guess, but I'll deal with it. He just sorta... confuses me. Ya know?"

"He likes you," Scott pointed out. "That makes a guy confusing. Or a girl." 

Part of her agreed– Remy liked her. And another part of her disagreed– Remy was just stringing her along until he needed her again. Just like the rest of them.

She suddenly, violently, wished that last year's crush on Scott Summers would come back and save her from this. In comparison to this weird... _tension _with Remy LeBeau, tension she'd thought she wouldn't have to deal with very often, it seemed like a walk in the park to pine after Scott. 

"He likes me, or he likes my power?" she knew it sounded sulky. And didn't care.

"I never looked at a girl like that because of her powers," Came the slow, careful reply from Scott. 

She felt her brow furrow, as she tried to decide if she really wanted to think that answer through or not. "That how you look at Jean?"

She was surprised to find that it still hurt, just a little, to say that. And that it sounded a little bitter. 

Not that she still wanted him. Just that... Jean was still Jean, after all. Hard not to be irritated by that.

Scott surprised her, however, by raising his eyebrows at her and saying, "Not anymore, I guess. Hey... here's an idea. Let's go do some Halloween shopping, maybe grab JP. I could use some advice, and it might take your mind off things, on our last day of freedom."

She smiled, as they stepped into the kitchen, "Sure, if JP isn't stuck to Pietro for the day. He has been lately. Whatcha need advice about? Costume?"

"Not so much," his smile suddenly turned wry. "I just... well, you're a girl. I thought maybe you could..."

She shook her head at him, and rolled her eyes, "Spit it out, Slim."

"Well... what's the best way to break up with a girl, do you think?"

* * *

Wanda was nervous. 

She didn't know how she could spend the evening with Sam and not let him know what it was they were planning. 

They'd talked about it for hours, once they had finally given up the tough guy acts. Apparently, she and her brother had more in common than they were willing to admit. Mainly, they were both stubborn. And scared. 

But some things couldn't be denied, as she'd found out today. And their past was turning out to be one of them. Neither of them could deny that there seemed to be no way out of this mess, no way to put whatever it was about the past, about Transia, that was haunting them to rest... no way but to go home. 

Pietro was scared, she knew he was scared. Of course, that was nothing new. He'd always been a runner– it was what he _did _after all. He was an undependable coward, basically. But even Pietro couldn't run fast enough to get away from his own dreams. From his own past. He would hardly say two words about it all, at first. Kept asking her what she remembered, what she thought, how she felt. And he was slow to provide any information. He seemed to remember things about Transia, about their adopted parents, the Maximoffs, about the gypsies and Romani and everything else that had to do with their distant childhood so much more than Wanda did herself. He even said he knew where they could find Marya and Django. And refused to say how.

But it wasn't important, right now. All that was important was what they would do tonight. 

They'd struck an uneasy alliance, over the issue. Wanda knew that she couldn't do it alone, not this time, and it would be stupid to try anyhow, with Pietro just as involved as she. So they were allies. Not friends, of course. But... they had to do this together, and they both knew it.

And they were going to go home. The plane would leave at 7AM. And they'd be on it, both of them. E-tickets bought with the last of Wanda's money. They'd leave Pietro's for the guys, and hopefully be back in time to get more for them by the time two months was up.

Good god. What if it really did take two months...?

"Wanda," She heard his voice near to her ear, slumped low as they were in the seats at the movie theater. She loved the movies. It was probably her favorite thing to do on a weekend, go to the movies and see everything, anything she could. Scary was best, but sci-fi, fantasy, action, romance, it didn't matter. Movies kept her from thinking. Dark theater, comfortable seats, and lately, Sam beside her, holding her hand. She could just sit, and let it take her away. The American Dream. 

But tonight, for some reason, she couldn't seem to pay attention.

"Wanda, do you want to go?"

She looked over at him, saw the deep worry lines in his brow, furrowed up as it was, saw the concern in his eyes even in the dark, burning behind the reflection of the war movie they were watching. Or not watching, as it were. 

And it made her hurt, somehow. Inside. Just... looking at him. So sincere. And the way he'd come to her last night, at just a phone call. Come over, laid with her until she'd fallen asleep. When she woke, shaking from the dreams, she was in his arms. And it was easier because of him.

So what was she planning to do? Leave him. And not say a goddamn word. Spend all night with him and turn up missing the next morning. 

Sam didn't deserve that. He deserved to know, just as much as Jean-Paul.

But Pietro was right, she had to remind herself. For once, the shit was right. The less people who knew, the better chance they had of making it in undetected. JP wouldn't tell anyone, not until he thought it was time. Sam could probably keep the secret... but they had agreed... only one person...

"No," she forced herself out of her thoughts, and into reality. The reality where Sam was sitting very close to her, his hand warm on her leg, intertwined with her own. His beautiful eyes questioning her. 

She wanted suddenly, desperately, to kiss him. 

It was ridiculous, of course. They were in public. But... she wouldn't be seeing him for a long time. An unknown amount of time, anyhow. And... she didn't have the words to tell him. She couldn't tell him, even if she did have the words. It always felt like they were... saying something when they kissed. Maybe if she could just kiss him... 

"I don't want to go," she finished, after a long pause. "I want you to kiss me."

He raised one eyebrow in surprise, but grinned anyhow. Then leaned forward, and put his lips to hers. Warm, soft, sweet. She tilted her head just a little to the side, for a better angle, and slid even closer to him, silently thanking the movie theater for movable armrests– they never kept the one between them down. 

There. Now she could feel him. He was always so warm, and she was always so cold. She felt their lips beginning to part, who started it was hard to tell, felt the beginnings of a real, honest to god kiss coming on. Squeezed her eyes shut tight, moved a little closer, and he put his arm around her now, disentangling his hand from hers, slowly.

Now she could feel him even better. She slid one hand up his chest, over his shirt, and to his neck, traced the line of his jaw from his chin to his ear with her fingertips. Their kiss closed off, spontaneously, and started all over again, this time instantly more open, wetter. The moment she felt the tip of his tongue slip past her own teeth, she gave it a small lick, then sucked on it gently.

She'd worked that out the first time she'd ever kissed him. The first time she'd done it, just fooling around, uncertain how to really kiss someone, drunk and brave and stupid, she'd noticed that he particularly liked it. His entire body would tense up, like it was right now, his arm tight around her, his other hand clenching on her leg. Sam always started out sweet, careful. But after a second of that treatment, he suddenly turned into Don Juan. As expected, Sam's body relaxed after just a moment, and she licked at the roof of his mouth, quickly, tasting the warmth in him, the spit and the slight sweetness of the Coke they were sharing. 

God it was good, kissing him. Because when she was kissing Sam, all she could think about was touching him– the warmth of him, his arm around her, his lips and her tongue and the feeling of his cropped hair in her fingers. Her heart speeding up and her blood rushing and that strange tingle that seemed to travel from his lips pressing against hers, straight into her spine, and down inside of her, all through her. 

She thought about what she wanted to say to him, what she couldn't say. _I'll miss you. _No. Well, yes, she knew she would. But that wasn't the half of it. _I'll think of you all the time_. True, probably, as much as she didn't want to admit to it. But that wasn't it either. 

_Thank you, Sam, for everything. I'll be back. For you._

Yeah. That felt more like it. 

A deep breath, and he suddenly closed off the kiss again, pulled back, so that she could still feel his lips brushing against her, so his forehead rested against hers. "What's that for?"

She kept her eyes closed, leaned on him heavily. Slid her hand out of his hair, over his cheek, then his jaw again. Just to feel him. Soft skin, hard angles underneath. Beautiful and boyish and perfect. "Nothing," she whispered, after a moment. "I just... wanted a kiss."

"Hell of a kiss, Wanda," she could hear the smile in his voice, over the gunfire from the movie neither of them cared about anymore. She was in her own world. And he was with her.

She tilted her head sideways and up one more time, kissed him again, softly. Then pulled back and opened her eyes. "Remind me next time you see me that I owe you another one."

"I'd be more than happy to."

She pulled her eyes away from his and slid down a little further in the seat, so that his arm was comfortably over her shoulders, then leaned back on him. Slid one hand between his knees, and laced the fingers of her other hand with his. And didn't watch another minute of the movie. 

Instead, she sat and thought about what it was she had to do in the morning. Thought about how insane the idea of it was, of how much they were probably going to regret it, of how they both knew somehow that the only way to find out what the fuck was wrong with them. Somehow, she knew that Sam wasn't thinking about some war movie from the seventies either. 

But it was alright. Because by the end of the film, all she was really thinking about was what she was going to do when she finally saw Sam Guthrie again, and he asked her for a kiss. Because thinking about everything else made her stomach hurt. And thinking about that made her think it would all be worth it, in the end.

  
  
  


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: Well that took me long enough. Sorry for the wait on this here update, but I seem to have grown a social life, at least over the weekends. And Sue and I have really been hammering away at Fallen Angels-- in fact *BEING SHAMELESS PLUG*, issue four is up now! ff.n/~fallenxangels! And honestly, this one is my favorite issue so far.

Now, for the shout-outs!:

_Angharad: _Thanks for the faithful reviews. As for JP meeting Magneto... I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you, sadly. Stay tuned for the answer to that one!

_Taineyah: _Wanda is pretty much _always _mad, I suppose. Why should today be any different (aside from Sam-ness, which would make _anyone _happy, no?) Glad you're enjoying!

_cyberpilate_: That's right all the set up is finally over! And, believe it or not, it's about to hit the fan in the next chapter. Big time. As for Wanda and Pietro being a family... what can I say? I dig the family thing. Let me see if my Wanda and Pietro muses can get along long enough for me to crank this out, and I will certainly ... try ;)

_The Rogue Witch_: Yes, it was indeed a long-ass chapter! This one was a bit lighter, but things are starting to spiral out of my hands on that issue haha. As for the JP/Pietro bordering on fluff... oh yes. After all, you have to make someone hopelessly in love with their significant other before you can cause them real heartache by taking that SO away... *ahem.* Not that I'm evil enough to do that.

_Relwarc: _Much to the surprise of everyone, the Jean subplot _does _serve a purpose! I am not the biggest Jean fan, but she's awfully useful. I am not her fan, because I end up writing her like me. And before you ask, yes, that does mean I'm a horrible ice princess. Woulda been fun to have Pietro flip out and try to beat Sam down, just because of the irony of him walking down with a half-asleep Jean-Paul and all, though, wouldn't it?

_Shaman Dani: _Gambit always has been, and always will be my favorite X-Man. You know he had to come in SOMEWHERE. At least, in Evo fic. I'm scared to death to write him in 616. I should wake Pyro up so I can play with him too though ;)

_crazyspaceystracey_: I'm glad you approve of the JP/JM moments-- obviously that is the most important aspect of the story, or at least, it will be very soon. And yes... yes I love Wanda and Sam. So much. Can you tell? I am getting sappy in my old age, but I really am glad to hear that you enjoyed them too!

_Risty: _The haircut had to happen. That's all there was to it. *nod* Thanks for the brilliant reviews, you're too kind. And thanks for the ones on FA as well! You have no idea how helpful it is! Oh wait... you write all the time... so yes you do. But thank you a thousand times!

And that's all my friends. Until next time... 3 -Beaubier-


	8. Protests and Goodbyes

Chapter Seven: Protests and Goodbyes

Jean-Paul sat up with a jerk, heart thudding, head spinning.

And saw, through the darkness, what it was that had so unexpectedly roused him from his dead sleep. Pietro Maximoff, sliding through his window with the ease of a circus contortionist. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" he laughed low and hoarse, relieved. He'd been having some sort of dream, it felt like, and it had left his stomach tight with... not fear, just… something unpleasant. And he'd thought the sound of his window sliding open, of Pietro's entry, had been something else. What, he couldn't remember. But it was something bad.

No. Just Pietro. He tried to calm his heart, to keep it from coming out of his chest. And had little luck. 

Pietro turned and closed the window, then flashed to the bedside. His side of the bed. And threw himself onto it, stretching out wordlessly and staring up at the ceiling. 

Jean-Paul studied his face. His eyes were well adjusted now, and the moon was heavy and bright outside his window, so he could see well enough. Pietro's face was flushed, from being outside in the cold, and his eyes looked far away. Serious. Jean-Paul looked to the clock and saw that it was 3AM. On a Sunday night.

His throat suddenly tightened, of its own accord. And a nameless dread began to settle over him like a blanket. "What's wrong?"

Pietro kicked off his shoes, still silent, and slid under the covers. 

Jean-Paul could feel the cold clinging to him, even though they weren't touching. He could smell fall on him. Could see that vague sort of... sadness on his friend's face. He slid back down to his former position, to be at eye level with Pietro, and pulled the covers back up over his bare chest. Trying to ignore that strange fear, that vague incredulity he could feel creeping in.

Something was wrong. Nothing about this was a normal late night visit from Pietro. 

And his heart wouldn't slow down.

Finally, the silver-haired boy took a deep breath, and flipped over onto his side, to face him. Pietro looked at him for a moment, bit at his own lip fetchingly. And then spoke, finally. "Sorry. I know this is weird. But... well, I need to tell you. You're the only one I trust. And I... don't want you to be angry, ok?"

Jean-Paul furrowed his brow, and flipped onto his side to match Pietro. Part of him was dying to know what it was that would bring his friend here so late, unannounced, and with such an out of character expression on his face. 

But part of him didn't. _Really _didn't. Because he knew, somehow, that he wasn't going to like it. "Something happened?"

Pietro sighed, "Sorta. Those dreams... they were the same for me and Wanda."

He nodded as best he could, with his head in the pillow. "I'm glad you could talk about it."

"Yeah... I guess I am too. Glad she didn't kill me, anyhow. And glad she doesn't remember anything about Magneto. Nothing real, anyhow. I don't think she's going to, either."

"Don't you think you should tell her...?"

"And die? Nothanks. Anyhow, what I'm trying to say is... well, we know they have to do with our father, right? We just kinda... have a feeling. I mean, cause of the timing and all. And you said the Worthington guy's company has its fingers in all this stuff with Sinister... coincidence is one thing but that's just fucking–,"

"Uncanny," Jean-Paul finished for him, almost in a whisper. "I agree."

"So... we were thinking that... all things considered... we both think... that we need to go home."

Jean-Paul simply watched him, schooling his expression so that it would give away nothing. Even though he was dying inside, already. It was all clear now. Perfectly clear.

Pietro had come to say goodbye.

"You think he's there?" He forced himself to ask, unable to hide the catch in his voice, and finding that he didn't really care to anyhow. Not at the moment.

Pietro suddenly looked very young, and very lost, as he answered, "I don't know, Jean-Paul. I don't even know if I _want _to know. I don't even want to...," deep breath, and he covered his face with his hand, like he couldn't stand for Jean-Paul to see the pained expression on his face any more. "I don't want to see him ever again. But something's fucking with us, and we gotta go. There's no other way, we both feel it, pulling us. Anyhow, she hasn't seen our family in... fuck almost ten years. They don't even know I'm alive. We should go."

No. 

It was his first instinct, and it should've been Pietro's. It was a trap. It was so obviously a trap.

But he looked at his best friend, lying limply at his side, hand over his face, miserable. And knew damn well that there really was no other choice. If he had a lead, he had to follow it. Because if he didn't... things would only get worse and worse. And after a few more days of this kind of exhaustion, there was simply no way he would be able to function. It was making him sick. And it might do worse. 

No, there was no other choice. Even if it was the most blatant, idiotic trap he'd ever seen in his life. He couldn't blame his friend. Not this time. _Don't think. Don't feel. Just agree. _"Yes, of course, if that's all there is for it, then you have to go. Do you...," Jean-Paul stopped himself, mid sentence, once he realized what he was about to ask. What he was about to offer. But finished in a moment anyhow. "Do you need help?"

The other speedster looked out from behind his hand now. "Help?"

"If... if you do find him, Pietro, that means you find Sinister. And you know better than anyone... that's no fucking joke. He's wanted you too long not to take advantage of the situation. But it... it must be some kind of trap and I don't want you...," he took a deep breath, trying to stop rambling. This was ridiculous, of course. He was acting like a child. _Calm down, speak to him reasonably..._, "I don't want you and Wanda wandering into it alone."

Pietro blinked a few times, as Jean-Paul considered his position once again. It was an insane idea. Going halfway across the world because of some dreams, because their father was missing. Yet, for some reason, it was instinctively... the right thing to do. Stupid, yes. But... somehow right.

Jean-Paul wished very much, at that moment, that he didn't understand. That he could yell, throw a fit, and get Pietro the hell out of his bed. Use Pietro's own "piss him off and he'll give up on you" tactic against him.

But he couldn't. Because he did, in fact, understand. His family, his business, his dreams.

"No man, I think we'd better go alone," the other boy finally breathed, sounding like each word took a great effort, low and rough in his throat. "This might be the stupidest thing I've ever done but... there's nothing anyone can do to help us. And if the shit hits the fan when we get there, I don't want you to... I mean, you could get caught up in it. And I feel like... _we _feel like it's just something we have to do, you know?"

The X-Man gave a quick nod. He knew, from experience, that once the Maximoffs had settled on a course, nothing would change their mind. And he also knew what it was like to have a sister. And when that bond demanded something of you... there was no other choice but to give in to it. He would do it too. Even if it meant giving everything else up. "But if you need anything, call."

Pietro gave a short, surprisingly bitter laugh at that. "Yeah, just call up the X-Men for help."

"No, not the X-Men," Jean-Paul said, slowly. "Me."

Pietro stopped laughing.

Jean-Paul stopped breathing. 

And they just looked at each other for a moment, quiet, scared, and feeling much younger than they were. Jean-Paul couldn't be sure if Pietro felt it, of course. But judging from the look of him, the look of a small, frightened boy, he had to feel it too. 

His stomach flipped, and Pietro's eyes fluttered shut, slowly. The silver-haired boy took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, then said, "Thanks." Quiet. So quiet, Jean-Paul mostly read it on his lips. 

"When are you going?"

"Two hours. Wanda wants to be at the plane at five."

"How long?"

His eyes snapped open, and he bit down on his lip. And it made Jean-Paul want to reach out and smooth his hair, touch his face, suddenly. Almost irresistibly. 

But he was frozen in place, by some sort of strange panic in the pit of his stomach. And all he could do was look at the other boy in his bed, and wish he could touch him. Make it better. Something. Anything. Just wanted to touch him.

"Don't know. We haven't worked the getting back part out yet."

Jean-Paul's throat closed in, and he nearly choked with it. The dread that had been spreading over him now seemed to be sinking in, black and cold. He pulled at the covers, fought another urge to reach for Pietro. _Don't think. Don't feel. He needs you to smile._ "Yeah, ok. It will be good for you. Both of you."

"I just... I wanted you to know. No one else can, not right now. She gave me this," Pietro suddenly shifted, and pulled something flat and white out of his back pocket, laid it on the bed between them, "For Sam. It doesn't say where we're going, though. Only you know that. We don't want anyone trying to stop us or track us down. And if the Brotherhood or someone finds out, they might try something stupid. Lance is such a fucking idiot, he might want to come after us or something. You're the only one I can trust...," he fell off, closed his eyes for a minute, and then opened them again slowly, like he was trying to compose the words in his head before he spoke them, trying to slow himself down and think before he spoke. "You can tell them, eventually. In case we're dead in a ditch, we figure someone ought to know. But... just give us a week, before you spill it. If you can." Still silent, throat still too tight to speak, Jean-Paul simply nodded. 

"I just... I just wanted you to know."

"Yeah," Jean-Paul almost smiled this time, at the halting confession. "I would've been pissed."

"I know," Pietro almost smiled back.

It was quiet again, just for a little while. Jean-Paul was just trying to breathe. Trying not to think. Wanting to touch him. Wanting his heart to stop beating so fast. Wondering why Pietro looked so fucking sad, and if it was the same reason he felt it himself. Pietro never looked sad, usually. Not until lately. He was always happy. He was royalty, wherever he went. Pietro Maximoff never had to feel sad. 

He wanted to kiss him. Kiss him until he couldn't breathe. But... not like that. Not fuck him, necessarily. Not right now. In fact, he was surprised to notice that he wasn't at all aroused, despite the presence of his beautiful best friend so close to him, in his bed. 

No. Just wanted to kiss him. 

And he was still frozen in place, too scared to move a muscle.

It was ridiculous. So many times, in this very bed, he'd been all over Pietro. Pietro on that side, Jean-Paul on this one. They always had the same side of the bed, every time they slept together. It was automatic now.

But this time... felt different. 

"I should go," Pietro suddenly cut through the silence. "Wanda gave me fifteen minutes. If I'm not back, she'll go into fits. She already thinks I'm going to back out on her."

"That's because she doesn't know you," Jean-Paul tore his eyes off of him, and sat up, moving to find his jeans somewhere on the floor in the dark. "Maybe if you let her, you two can handle this together."

Pietro made no reply, but Jean-Paul could feel him, watching him get dressed. And Jean-Paul refused to meet his eyes, as he pulled up his zipper. Kept his back turned. Had to. "I'll let you out the front, so you don't trip the alarms."

_Just a little longer. Just stay calm a little longer_. He walked side by side with his friend down the hallway in the dark, and then down the stairs into the open foyer. In silence. Absolute, terrible silence. Hanging over their heads like a black cloud, like a death sentence. So thick, that quiet, he could've sworn they were breathing it instead of air. 

He wanted to say something. He wanted to say a lot of things. But they didn't seem to have words, whatever they were, so he wasn't sure how to accomplish that. So he just stayed quiet, and tried not to look at Pietro too much, as they came to the door. 

But once they were standing there, and Jean-Paul had punched in the security code, he couldn't resist catching the other boy's eyes again. "Thanks. For telling me, I mean. Hell, we might end up there too," he pointed out, sounding a little too hopeful for his tastes, but too tired to change his tone. "We're after Sinister now too. You could just... come with us."

Pietro shook his head. "Wouldn't work. You know it wouldn't. The agendas are all wrong."

He had a point. The X-Men would hardly be interested in investigating dream-animal-men. And they were taking their sweet fucking time coming to a decision about what to do, waiting around for Worthington to receive proper clearance... "I know," he said, quietly, with a sigh of defeat. "Just... good luck."

There was another moment of silence, where Jean-Paul struggled again with a simultaneous need to _touch _Pietro, and a strangling fear in the pit of his stomach that wouldn't let him. 

Until Pietro finally snapped, "Fuck, this is retarded," And threw himself at his friend, bodily.

Jean-Paul caught him with both arms, slid them around his friend's waist with shaky release of breath, and buried his face in Pietro's silvery hair. Jesus, he was warm now. Warm and solid and god just so... Pietro. Jean-Paul squeezed his eyes shut, concentrated hard on the feeling of it, on Pietro's heartbeat against his own chest, his breath rising and falling, his warm skin and the pure, unadulterated _reality _of him. Here, with him. Now. "Jesus, Pietro, be careful," he breathed, holding him just a little closer as arms snaked around his neck tight. "Sinister is no fucking joke. Be careful, and take care of her."

"I owe the bastard one," Pietro made an attempt at a laugh, that only came out sounding sad and flat. And Jean-Paul knew damn well that Pietro didn't think of himself as a hero, and that's why it was funny. But he could only hope that somewhere in that self-absorbed, narcissistic, megalomaniacal skull of Pietro's, there was a little bit of a hero waiting for a chance to come out and play. Because the Maximoffs were going to need it. "Hell, you owe him one too. I'll throw in a punch for you, if you want."

Jean-Paul could feel every word he was speaking, feel the small warm puffs of his breath, as he spoke. So close to him. But never close enough. He gave a small laugh at Pietro's last statement, the best he could muster, and breathed in deeply. Leftover fall smell and green soap. Remember that smell. 

"Anyhow, you guys will turn up. If this is really about Sinister. I don't know if it is or not but... gottagoyouknowwhatImean?"

"Of course, I understand," But as he spoke he felt Pietro's face turning, felt sudden, soft lips at his jawline, quiet and careful. His breath caught again, as if he'd never kissed this boy before in his life, as if it was different from the million other times this had happened. And he turned his own face, just so, felt his lips connect with Pietro's. Felt the soft pressure of a gentle kiss, barely there. Lips parted, just enough that he could feel his hot breath. Slightly wet. Fingers in his hair, but softly. On the back of his neck, ghost-like, moving fast. 

Some kind of rush. But almost in a calming way, oddly. Tangled up in him and letting something instinctive pass between them. Something neither of them would ever have the words, or the guts, most likely, to say. Like it had meant something, this time.

Suddenly dizzy with it, Jean-Paul pulled back, just a little. He swallowed hard and whispered. "Right, then. See you before long, I'm sure."

Even though he wasn't sure. Wasn't sure at all.

And _that, _he suddenly realized, was why he was scared. Why his stomach was in a knot in his midsection and his heart was thudding in his ears. Why he hadn't been able to kiss him. Touch him. God, he felt so good.

But Pietro nodded and pulled further away, disentangling his arms from Jean-Paul's. "Yeah. Soon."

He turned away now, pulled the door open, and didn't even wince as the rush of freezing air spilled over his bare torso. Just watched Pietro step out, onto the stoop, and turn to look back at him quickly.

_Fuck. I'm going to miss you, you dickhead._ "Tell Wanda I'll miss her."

"She'll miss you too. Later, JP."

_Yeah, you'd fucking better. _But he didn't say any of it. He just held up his hand, in goodbye. Because he didn't want to say it.

And then, Quicksilver sped up, and took off across the lawn.

Jean-Paul watched, for a moment, then closed the door lightly, so as not to wake anyone else in the house. He flipped a few locks, punched in a few codes, reset everything just how it should be. Numbly at first.

But then, the warmth on his lips started to fade. And the feeling of his arms around Pietro started to slip away. And he started to feel the cold that he'd let in from the night outside.

And Jean-Paul went to bed feeling empty. And, for the first time in what seemed a long time, lonely. And scared.

* * *

Jean tried her best to be friendly. She really, truly did. With all her heart. Jeanne-Marie made that easy, of course, most of the time. The girl was sweet, plain and simple. And sitting next to her in class, Jean honestly remembered what it was like when JM had first come, holding her hand through her getting used to the X-Men, sleeping together and falling asleep laughing about Scott or Roberto. Back when things had seemed easy. Before Sinister. Before Warren. Before things just got so hopelessly... 

Complicated.

It wasn't a bad day. They had lunch with Tara and her friends, and JM kept her flirting to a minimum. She seemed to be taking her task of bodyguard quite literally, glancing around with those shockingly blue eyes of hers every so often, as if checking for a threat. But she smiled a lot, talked when someone spoke to her, even made friends. 

Jean had been starting too feel guilty for avoiding her for so long. So guilty, in fact, that she asked about Warren, on the way to her last class.

And that's when things got difficult.

"Oh Jean, he's so wonderful to talk with! He seems so sad, but he is so funny and sweet, when he isn't trying to isolate himself from the people around him."

And with that, Jean found that she was, once again, jealous.

It was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She'd been berating herself for it since it began, weeks ago. Impossible and ridiculous. And it wasn't Jeanne-Marie's fault that she was beautiful and artistic and had that accent that made guys melt...

"Oh... it sounds really nice, JM. I'm glad you're happy."

It must've sounded off. Because Jeanne-Marie looked over at her, and her pretty ivory brow furrowed. "Jean, are you angry with me? Did I ignore you when I broke up with 'Berto, or when I started liking Warren? If I did, I'm... very sorry."

Jean found that she couldn't look the other girl in the eye. Sometimes, Jeanne-Marie was so damn disarming and... naive. And always just when Jean wanted an excuse to be angry with her the most. "No, I'm not angry. You were fine. I just... I have a lot on my mind."

"...Scott has been... different lately. Even Jean-Paul says so."

Well, at least she thought it was about Scott, and not her. 

And it was about Scott... kind of. But... not. "It's not that. I just got a little busy. I'll be around a lot more now, since we're in heavy training."

"I think he misses you," the younger girl offered, quietly. 

Now, Jean looked over at her. Jeanne-Marie was looking at the ground, her long black hair falling around her face so that only part of it was visible, hiding her expression. "You... think?"

"I don't know, honestly," She looked up now, straight ahead at the crowd of backpack toting students that lined the sidewalk in front of them. "He doesn't talk to me, really. But I saw him talking to Rogue and Jean-Paul, and Jean-Paul said that you didn't even tell him goodbye after our meeting yesterday... Jean, are you not in love with him anymore?"

Normally, that would've been a perfectly alright question for Jeanne-Marie Beaubier to ask her. The girl was her friend, used to be one of her best friends. But lately... Jean had let almost every relationship slip away from her. Gotten wrapped up in other things, things that she _wanted _to do. College life, as much as possible. Warren, mostly. A short-term distraction. Something about the newness of it all, the normality of it... "Of course I am, JM. I just... it's hard coming to school. A lot more is expected of me and I don't really... I can't really balance it, yet."

"I see. I'm sorry if I shouldn't have asked..."

Jean winced, and thought suddenly of the IM Scott had sent her last night, just before she'd gone to bed. 

_Please call me. We need to talk. _

She'd brushed her teeth and gone to bed, knowing she had to be up early enough to make it to the Danger Room session. In the morning, she'd only seen him in the Danger Room, and completely forgotten about the IM until just now...

She looked over at her friend and smiled. And didn't even have to force it too much. "No, it's ok. We're friends. I've just been distant lately, I know. I'm sorry, JM, ok?"

And as she said it, she decided that she meant it. She would go home tonight and call Scott, and tomorrow when Kitty came she would tell her she was sorry for being so ridiculous lately. And this Warren thing... it would go away...

"Please, no apologies," Jeanne-Marie smiled back at her, and it lit up her face. "Sometimes we all get wrapped up in things. I can understand. Like I've been wrapped up with Warren lately." 

And Jean winced again, internally. 

"Jean! Jean Grey!"

Jarred out of her conversation with JM, the redhead looked around for the owner of the voice she heard calling her name, and saw Jeanne-Marie doing the same, eyes narrowed suspiciously. She almost laughed at the sudden change of demeanor in the other girl, but her attention was caught by the rather large gathering she could now see forming on the quad. Complete with two separate mobs of college students, huge posterboard signs, and trucks full of sound and other equipment. "What the hell is going on here...?"

"I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about it...," Jeanne-Marie whispered, low in her chest so that it almost sounded like a growl.

"Jean!" The owner of the voice was now running toward them, and she recognized him as one of the boys from her Physical Anth class, the one with the Ramones shirt who had defended her. Today he was wearing a green toboggan with a Flogging Molly crest on the side and a plain white t-shirt that was a little too tight over his wide, if thin shoulders. That, and a pair of jeans that looked like they would fall right off his slim hips if he kept that running up.

Cute, in that slacker kind of way, really. 

Oh but dammit, what was his name... Gary? No... Gavin? No, something like that though...

He reached the two girls, who were simply watching him come near, and Jean immediately opened her mouth to question him, "What's going on here?"

"It's the Students for Humanity. The people who are already in on it are staging a protest, to drum up support before the meeting tonight. So we're out here to protest them," he answered, face flushed with running, breathing a little hard. 

He must've really wanted to get her attention, to tell her about this. 

"That's the group you and Kitty saw the poster for?" Jeanne-Marie asked, narrowing her eyes at the mass of kids mulling around the quad now.

The dark-haired boy looked over at Jeanne-Marie with obvious surprise in his dark eyes, as if he hadn't even seen her standing there. 

Now there was a first, Jean thought to herself, silently adding a check next to this boy on her list... if only she knew his name. "Um... this is my friend, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier." She offered, hoping he would do the work for her.

"Gaz Russell," he held out a hand to JM, and smiled, crookedly. 

"Gaz," Jeanne-Marie smiled at the name, and accepted the handshake. "Interesting name."

"It's Gareth, really, but no one calls me that," he kept smiling, but returned his attention to Jean almost immediately. 

Gareth. Right, that was it. 

"Listen, I don't know if you're busy, but I thought you might be... interested in what was happening down here," He explained. "They're planning some pretty shitty stuff, I hear, and I think having a strong example like you around would really encourage a lot of the kids to stand up against this kind of bullshit 1940s segregationist crap, you know?"

Jean raised one eyebrow at him, and he scratched at his hat, almost nervously. But his eyes were steady. 

"Are you a mutant?" She asked him, suddenly.

He shook his head, "No. Well, not that I know of."

"Why do you care then, Gaz?"

"Because I care about my country, and about my school. And I don't want to see us take a huge step backward after we've come so far already."

Honest– the sincerity was clear as a bell in his voice. 

Jean looked over at her friend, who also seemed impressed, and then gave Gaz a small, approving smile. 

"So... you'll come?"

"We'd better not, Jean. Logan said–," JM began, cautiously.

But something in the way Gaz was looking at her appealed to Jean, at the moment. Something in the way he'd stood up for her, even though she didn't need it. Something sincere and zealous about him that she found oddly magnetic. Not sexually, of course, but personally. And she believed him, when he said they could use her. "Logan didn't say we couldn't be near it, JM. He just wants us to be careful, that's why he wants us together. Let's just... go see what's up?"

Slowly, the dark-haired girl nodded her agreement. "Maybe it would be best to know what's happening on campus, anyhow. In the end."

Gaz Russell was smiling crookedly again, and scratching at his hat, causing some of his dark curls to stick straight out from his head underneath it. "Great. Come on, I'll introduce you. I mean, they know who you are, but, still..."

He put an arm around her shoulders, in that familiar way that most confident boys had– harmless and friendly, and started guiding her to the gathering, talking about what had been going on. Jeanne-Marie walked at her side, looking from side to side, but not too obviously. She looked relaxed and comfortable, Jean was pleased to note.

So she turned her attention to the excited boy beside her, who was talking about the gathering now and some of what he'd heard the Students for Humanity were planning. And wondered if maybe she hadn't found herself a new cause. One that, this time, was X-Men related.

* * *

He was nervous.

Wanda's behavior last night had been strange, yeah. She'd attacked him both in the movie theater, and then at her door, with kisses that had made his blood heat up instantly. But she was good at that– kissing. So it wasn't exactly a surprise. And it's not as if she'd never really done that before. She had a tendency to be a compulsive kisser. Yet another of her qualities that Sam adored.

So it wasn't _that _strange. What was odd was her resolve not to talk about anything at all. Not even the weather. She just kept looking at him, then kissing him. Insisting that nothing was wrong, that she just wanted to sit with him, to hold his hand. It wasn't very... Wanda. Normally she had a million things to bitch about, and he would make her laugh about them, and they would carry on watching their movie or eating their dinner. But not last night.

And now she wasn't in school. 

He never usually saw her in the morning anyhow– Wanda was notorious for arriving late with the rest of the Brotherhood, barely in time for homeroom. But he usually saw her in Spanish and at lunch... and hadn't today. She hadn't called him, to say anything was wrong. And when he approached Toad about the subject, the other boy had just shot him a dirty look, and hopped away.

So now, he was worried. 

It wouldn't be such a big deal, if she'd ditched school. He was surprised she didn't do it more often, she hated the place so much. But, after a few hours, he noticed that Pietro wasn't in school either. It was most noticeable at lunch, when the table that Jean-Paul and Pietro usually sat at, where Sam and Wanda sometimes sat, if they ate together, was empty. Jean-Paul was nowhere to be seen either, but Sam knew he was in school. 

The Maximoffs, however, were missing.

He walked along under the overcast sky, heavy with cold moisture, on his way to the van after school, pondering the situation. The nightmares, their father disappearing, now them? It was just too freaky to be nothing. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe they'd just skipped school...

"Sam."

The blonde X-Kid stopped in his tracks, startled out of his thoughts by a French accent. 

"Sam, I have something for you," Jean-Paul was at his side now, looking tired and a little bit sad. 

Sam held out his hand to receive the envelope the older boy laid in it, and furrowed his brows at it. The outside of it was clean– no writing. But he still had a feeling. "From her?"

JP nodded, and let out a long breath. Not quite a sigh– Jean-Paul was always a little too controlled for that kind of thing, but something sad, anyhow.

Damn. He'd known it. He'd just... known it.

"Open it. What does it say?"

The two boys stood there, on the front lawn of Bayville High, as Sam carefully extracted the sheet of paper from the sealed envelope. The paper was black, and the pen was silver. The writing was sharp cursive, angled and slanted just so. It smelled like citrus and sandalwood.

Wanda.

_Dear Sam,_

_ I know I was acting strange last night, and I'm very sorry. But I couldn't tell you what I had to do, or I knew I wouldn't be able to do it. Pietro and I have gone to try and figure out what's happening to us. We're not sure when we're coming back, but hopefully it will be soon. Jean-Paul knows where we are, but I'm asking you not to ask him. We told him because we both know him, and trust him. I trust you, you know that. But I didn't trust myself to tell you. Ask him in a week, and he will tell you where we are. I'm sure if you think about it long enough, though, you will guess. _

_ Maybe I'm a coward, telling you in a letter. But I had to tell you somehow, and Pietro knows as well as I what would've happened if I talked to you in person. I would've told you everything. He would kill me if he even knew I told you this much, in this letter. But we have to do this, the two of us. I don't know what will happen, I don't know if we will find our father, our past, our future, or more nightmares. But we have to go. This is no way to live._

_ I'll be back. I know you understand, Sam, but I couldn't leave without saying something. Even if it's just that I will miss you. _

_ Love, Wanda_

Sam swallowed hard, and looked back up at Jean-Paul, who was watching him, something like caution in his piercing blue eyes. "When are they coming back?"

Jean-Paul shook his head. "I don't know."

Sam looked back down now, at the paper in his hands. His head felt so hot. His stomach was in knots.

It was stupid. She had to go, she had to do this. He was glad that she was doing what she needed to do. He couldn't help her with _everything _after all. He'd done what he could, and now she and her brother had to do what they could...

"I'm...," he started to speak, to no one in particular. "I really... I'm going to..."

"Me too," JP said, very quietly.

The blonde boy looked up at him again, and blinked a few times, to rid himself of the burning in his eyes. "It was nice of her to leave me this."

"She's a nice girl."

"She's a tough girl," Sam felt himself smiling, in spite of himself now. Because hell, Wanda was just about the toughest girl he knew. And if anyone could do it, if anyone could take care of her right now...

It was her. Herself.

"She is," JP agreed. But he didn't smile back.

Sam wanted to ask him if he was alright. Wanted to know if he was angry or sad or irritated because Pietro was gone. Wanted to know when he'd found out. 

But he and JP weren't friends. And he knew better then to try and get close to the older boy without a written invitation. They'd talked the other night, yeah, on the way home from the Brotherhood house. But that was circumstantial. 

So instead, he just nodded, and turned to find his friends. Bobby and Alex wanted to go out for coffee after school. He'd originally told them he'd go... but he wasn't feeling particularly festive at the moment. Maybe he'd just go home. And try not to think about Wanda Maximoff, alone with her brother, going home.

He knew that was where they'd gone, of course. And he wouldn't say anything, if he was asked. Hell, he'd even ask Jean-Paul to confirm it, in a week, just to be sure. But where else would they go? Dreams about home, father being taken, all those links with Sinister in Eastern Europe lately... he was a country boy, but he wasn't stupid. The pattern was clear as crystal. 

He could only hope it kept that up. And that Wanda and Pietro weren't walking into a trap. 

Even though he didn't see how it could be otherwise. He couldn't think like that, or he'd be the one having sleepless nights. Until she came home. 

* * *

Jeanne-Marie glanced around, hoping that the nervousness in her stomach wasn't showing.

The press of students all around her was growing far too insistent. Bodies all around her, people chanting into the quickly cooling air. Early evening on the NYS campus. And she was in the middle of a protest.

Jean had her by the hand, and had since things had gotten so... over the top. She clung to the hand, trying to take in all of the sensory information she was being fed at once, trying to make certain she had a hold on the situation. The Professor had asked her to stay with Jean. Had asked her to make sure they weren't in any kind of dangerous situation, that the anti-mutant sentiment didn't reach Jean.

And what had she done? Followed her right into the middle of the anti-mutant protest.

Granted, Gaz and his friends were all there to counter-protest. But things were just getting out of hand. The Students for Humanity kids had megaphones, numbers, and insanity on their side, apparently, and were shouting and yelling slogans that Jeanne-Marie could barely decipher. All she could do was cling to Jean's hand, and it was getting sweaty with the efforts, with the press of people all around them, even though the evening was growing colder. 

Just so many kids...

It was confusing. Something in her was shifting between being afraid to lose Jean for her own sake, and afraid that she couldn't protect Jean. And there was a strange light behind her eyes, when she thought about either one. One moment, she wanted to rise up, fly away with Jean, get her to safety, and possibly beat the living hell out of these horrible racist protesters on the other side of the line. And the next, she wanted to curl up in a ball and call her brother to come for them. Because she didn't think she could handle it...

But she _could _handle it, of course. There was no reason to think she couldn't. She was an X-Man, well-trained, in control of her powers–

"No powers," Jean suddenly yelled at her, over the din of shouting voices, pulling on her hand to get her attention. 

Jeanne-Marie simply stared at her red-headed friend, considering.

But... what if something bad happened?

"Even if–?"

Jean nodded, interrupting her. "No matter what. Even if something happens, no powers. It's what they'd want. We should get out of here, now."

Yes. Yes, Jeanne-Marie could not have agreed with that sentiment more. "Let's go."

Jean began to pull her through the crowd, away from Gaz and his friends. Someone was shouting over the crowd now, his voice evident through the speakers that were blaring and crackling. Something about mutant detection. Something about ending the charade.

She wondered, momentarily, what charade. She looked up, over the heads of the people in front of her, and saw a boy with piercing green eyes, sporting a green ball cap with some Greek letters on it. He was waving his arm, and he held something that looked a lot like one of those metal detectors at the airport, or in state buildings, that the security guards always had. "Jean, what's that?"

Jean looked back to her now, still pulling the other girl through the crowd, and her pink lips parted as if she would answer. 

Instead, something seemed to hit Jean from behind, something Jeanne-Marie couldn't see, and the redheaded girl's slick hand slid out of her frenzied grip. Jean's body jerked as if from impact, and her green eyes went wide. 

"Jean!" the darker girl shouted, throwing herself against what now seemed an impenetrable wall of bodies to get to her friend, reaching her hand over the shoulder of a random boy, desperately clawing the air. 

Panic. Jean was out of her grip. They were alone, in a crowd. A partially hostile crowd. Jean's head was slowly getting further away... Somehow she was moving away.

Breathing hard, blood pounding in her ears, Aurora looked up at the platform again, at the boy in the Greek hat who was waving his microphone and his metal detector. And she felt something deep inside of her begin to vibrate. 

She could hear him perfectly now. "See how they hide from us? If you're not ashamed of who you are, get up here and take the test! Hey, Ricky, c'mere man!"

Aurora darted her eyes around again, feeling her head grow hot, listening to her blood rushing. Feeling the vibration in her starting to spread, all through her body, starting in the pit of her belly. Upward, as if it would overtake her heart. Downward, into her legs, just barely...

The boy with the hat waved his metal detector over another boy's chest, as if checking him for loose change. Green lights flashed on the handle of the device, and both boys grinned hugely. "No chlorine needed for the gene pool here!"

Again, she spotted Jean's head, now near the platform. And she was fighting with someone. Her movements were jerky, and someone had a tight hand around her upper arm– Aurora could see it as Jean was taken further from the crowd, and closer to the boy with the microphone.

The vibration spread even further, and was starting to make her feel sick to her stomach. But in a good way. In a way that felt alive. Like she was becoming pure energy now. Down to her knees, up to her shoulders. Soon it would be all through her...

"Oh, look, let's see if it really works!" Microphone boy was shouting.

Aurora shoved to the front of the crowd, violently, right into the anti-mutant line. She didn't care. They couldn't touch her. She was Aurora, after all. 

They were making Jean step onto the platform, arms bound behind her. She was biting her lip, looking half dazed, and half like she was trying very hard to concentrate. Aurora felt, instinctively, that she was undoing whatever they'd used to bind her with her TK. 

"Jean Grey! We have a celebrity on stage, ladies and gentlemen!" The boy was yelling now, waving his metal detector. "Come on over here, show the people how well this thing works, mutie girl."

Jean stared hard at the boy, once she managed to focus. Something must've hit her in the head, and she was still dizzy. But she pulled her shoulders back, met his eyes. Defiantly. Refusing to use her powers.

"Jean!" She heard, just to her left, and saw Gaz Russell at her side, pushing frantically to the front.

A loud beeping sound was rolling through the loudspeakers now, and Aurora could feel the vibration in her in her fingers, in her toes, behind her eyes now. It was all through her, rushing like a waterfall, like a force of nature. Her face was flushed, her body was shaking, and she could barely hold it in, everything that was inside of her... she looked back to the stage, and saw a bright red light flashing on the metal detector as the green-hat boy waved it over Jean. 

And realized that it wasn't a metal detector at all. It was a _mutant _detector.

Jean was standing, gazing down at the crowd defiantly. The reactions were so jumbled– half the people yelling for them to leave her alone, half the crowd yelling that she was genetic scum, an abomination. 

Abomination. The white was growing behind Aurora's eyes now, at the sound of that word. She saw it flashing before her, on signs, on lips. Heard the nuns screaming at her, felt that belt on her back, just like the first time she'd found that she could fly...

Jean suddenly went reeling before her on the platform, and Aurora saw that green-hat boy had shoved her. Aurora _knew _that the other girl was using her TK to steady herself, quietly, so that no one could see her power activated...

But that small action, the fact that someone had laid hands on Jean Grey, her friend, her fellow _mutant_... 

Pissed Aurora off. 

She shot straight up, suddenly, and flashed to Jean's side, steadying her, standing just beside her on the platform. 

"Aurora," Jean hissed, green eyes wide and terrified as the darker girl straightened her. "_No powers_. They'll eat you alive! Let it go, I can handle it!"

But Aurora didn't care anymore. She spun on the hat boy, saw his eyes flash with fear and disgust. And was on him in a split second, holding his arm behind him, and hissing in his ear.

She didn't hear the crowd anymore. She didn't even see the people closing in around her, so much as feel them with some sixth sense. And she really didn't care. This boy had offended her. And he was going down. 

"You touch my friend, you die," she pulled his arm up tighter, behind him, stretching it painfully. 

He yelped like a little girl, and swung his other arm, the one holding the Mutant Detection System, at her head. 

It flashed bright red.

Jean screamed.

Aurora felt the other girl's protective psychic field hit her.

But not before she felt something blunt and heavy clock her in the back of the head. 

The last thing she thought of, before she blacked out in a burst of multi-colored pain, was that she had been stupid to focus on one of them. She really should've taken them all down. And _that _would've ended their little protest.

* * * 

Warren was supremely irritated. "What do you think it means, Professor?"

Xavier shook his bald head, and gave a slight sigh. "I can't say, for certain. But it... does not bode well for our plans."

ExGen wasn't returning the calls. Previously, they'd been quick to answer his every request– sending him that portfolio overnight, discussing issues, giving out phone numbers. But now, suddenly, they seemed to be backing off... 

And just when he needed to be close to them the most. 

This had to work, this undercover operation. It simply had to. He had a personal responsibility to the world, and he knew it. Money was power, in that arena, and power was dangerous. And if his family used that power poorly, it reflected badly on all of them, and could ruin so many lives, so easily...

But he didn't really _want _to do it, was the thing. What he _wanted _was to go and find Jeanne-Marie, who he knew was spending the day with Jean in the city, sweep her off her feet, take her back to his apartment and–

"Perhaps they simply need time to review the request. If it was only put in yesterday, it's entirely possible that they must send it through the higher levels of administration to clear you."

The logic of Xavier's explanation cut through his moment of daydreaming, and he swallowed hard, suddenly considering the pitfalls of daydreaming about making out with JM in the presence of her teacher– who happened to be the most powerful telepath on the planet. "Yes, of course, that makes sense. But it makes me nervous... they usually at least call me back, and my phone has been quiet all day..."

"_Professor!!_" Footsteps were suddenly pounding down the hallway toward them, and someone banged on the door to his office. Loud.

"Come in Rogue," but Xavier was already wheeling himself out from behind his desk, eyes suddenly wide with alarm.

He already knew what was wrong obviously.

Rogue burst through the door, breathing hard and shaking her head. "My gawd, something _bad _happened."

Xavier looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. "I sent for Jean-Paul. You go with him, take Angel. Bring them home."

Rogue nodded, reached out one gloved hand to the very confused Warren, clasped him around the wrist, and pulled him through the door behind her. "Let's go tiger. JM needs you. Now."

~~~

"Tell me _again_, then," Jean-Paul was breathing hard, standing over his sister's hospital bed, eyes narrowed at Jean Grey, who was occupying the next bed over.

Warren looked from Jean, who looked exhausted, who had been crying since he, Jean-Paul, and Rogue had arrived at NYS to pick them up. And hadn't stopped. She wasn't sobbing, but tears were just falling, one after the other.

He'd tried to help, somehow. Put his arm around her. 

She'd shrugged him off, and hidden her face. Crying silently. 

Warren had his own problems, however. As he looked down at the ivory white face of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, the girl he was so quickly falling in love with, after only a week of knowing her... his heart stopped beating. She was so pale, so cold-looking. She looked like a corpse. The thought made him shiver.

He knew she was alright. She'd gotten a bad knock on the head, and a few bruises to the back. She'd awakened, throwing up, in the jet on the short trip back. And now she was resting, so Dr. McCoy told them, comfortably. And she would be fine...

But Jean-Paul grilling Jean probably wasn't helping her so much. Warren wanted to interrupt the arrogant Canuck, tell him to shut the hell up, tell him to have a little respect for his injured sister.

But he knew better. Jean-Paul would destroy him if he presumed to know how he felt about Jeanne-Marie. It was obvious. Her twin was standing over her bed like a watchdog, refusing to move from his spot, glaring at anyone who got too near to her. Warren hadn't actually touched her since they'd picked the girls up, in fact. 

Even though he was dying to. To feel that she was actually warm. Because she just looked so cold...

"Jean-Paul...," Jean seemed, for a moment, as if she would put up a fight through her tears. 

Warren shot JP a dirty look, but the violence in the younger boy's eyes stopped him cold, once again. Jean-Paul was staring down at his sister, looking like he was about to murder someone.

And... Jesus. He hadn't noticed it before but... 

Jean-Paul looked like he was going to...

No way. Jean-Paul Beaubier didn't _cry_.

Jean gave in before Warren could decide how he felt about the expression on Jean-Paul's face, and he heard her voice catch, just a bit. Again, not weeping. Just... tired. She sounded so drained. "The protest got out of hand. The two lines got bunched together, and Andy had a platform, a little stage. He was waving around an MDS, testing people. He got someone to grab me, to bring me up on stage. They tied me up, and I undid it with my TK, despite the bump on my head. I lost Aurora in the crowd. After that. Andy tested me, and it showed that I'm a mutant, and he shoved me across the stage when I tried to say something into the mic. I had a plan... I wanted to show them all that mutants aren't dangerous. I wanted to talk to them, while I had their attention. I thought that if they saw me standing there, unashamed, unbound, of my own free will, they might respect me. Half the crowd was on our side, anyhow..."

Jean-Paul looked up, at her now. But kept silent. And his face stayed stony. No compassion for Jean there. But no hate, or anger, either. Just stone.

"But when she saw him push me, she... she went... Aurora. Totally Aurora. Like we haven't seen in a long time. I felt her mind, Jean-Paul, there was nothing there but that flash of light that she becomes. She was so angry, and so focused. She flew to the stage, pulled me up. I tried to calm her down, but she went after Andy... I think she broke his arm. And then they all came up on her and hit her before I could hold them back. I finally got her out, with Gaz's help, and I got her to safety before campus security got there but... oh god..."

With that, Warren felt obligated to try again. No matter what strange issues stood between the two of them, he couldn't watch her cry. And he couldn't just... _stand _there and not do anything, anymore. He went to Jean and put an arm around her shoulders, and this time, she accepted. She still sat tall, but she didn't pull away from him. She just sat, looking at Jeanne-Marie now, staring. "She's going to be fine," He said, soothingly. To everyone in the room.

"When I find out who did this–," 

But Jean-Paul's snarl was cut off by the medlab door opening, and Scott suddenly appearing inside the doorway. "We already know," he announced, instantly. "And they're being expelled. Andy Rasz is no longer a student at NYS, as of an hour ago, due to his hate crimes."

Warren suddenly wondered what those eyes were seeing, under the ruby shades. And he almost pulled away from Jean, as he remembered their conversation over making dinner the other night...

But Jean was the one who pulled away first. She stood and went to her boyfriend, looked at him for a minute, and then hugged him. 

Scott stared for a moment, at Jean-Paul. Who simply raised his eyebrows and looked back to his sister.

Warren didn't read too much into that. He thought it might be better for his sanity if he didn't.

But within seconds, Scott's arms were around the redheaded girl, and he leaned his head against hers, carefully. "It's fine, Jean. Apparently, forcing mutants to take part in that kind of activity counts for just as much as it does when it's any minority being put in that situation. He's out of school."

"What about Jeanne-Marie?" Jean-Paul suddenly spoke up again, voice practically dripping ice. "Is he pressing charges?"

"We don't know yet. But he'd be an idiot to, considering the provocation for her attack was his own attack on Jean, and JM's disorder...," but Scott trailed off there, as Jean-Paul's lip curled up in a snarl. 

The Canadian mutant looked back to Jeanne-Marie, and returned to his former stony expression. Except for the misty sort of look in his eyes. That was pure emotion. 

Warren followed his gaze, to the sleeping girl on the med cot. 

And felt his own eyes burning just a little bit as well. God she looked so fragile, laying there. But she was a force to be reckoned with, that much was certain. If she hadn't been so focused on just one boy, the one who had shoved Jean, Andy, that whole protest might've ended up bruised and battered... No, she wasn't a fragile thing at all, despite appearances. He'd seen her in the Danger Room. This girl was...

Everything.

Warren could hear Scott and Jean talking quietly, but he didn't care to pick out any of the words. Seeing them hold on to each other would only make it worse. But after a moment, they seemed to move, as if to leave the lab, and Scott asked, quietly, "Jean-Paul... are you going to be ok?"

Warren thought it was a strange question, considering that it was Jeanne-Marie in the bed with the huge lump on her head, not Jean-Paul. But then... he did look horribly upset. 

"This ranks right up there with the day Sinister took her," Jean-Paul said quietly. "Do you remember that? We'd just fought..."

"Yeah," Scott answered, just as quiet, now moving to stand next to the dark-haired boy, to put a hand on his shoulder. "My jaw remembers it."

A slight smile twitched at Jean-Paul's lips, but his face ultimately went back to being stony. 

"No one took her...," Warren said, vaguely. He meant it to sound reassuring. She was still here, after all, just had a bump. She'd be alright, in a few days. Hank had said so...

"No," Jean-Paul muttered. "She's here. At least Jeanne-Marie is here."

Scott squeezed his friend's shoulder again, and gave Warren a weak half smile. "Don't let him get too morose. I'll be back later, JP."

Jean-Paul didn't respond, if he heard. He just kept staring at his sister, arms crossed tight over his chest, hugging himself, really.

Scott turned to go, and Jean went with him, still crying, silently. 

The light in the medlab was horrific. Fluorescent and sickly and stark. White tiled floors and blue sheets. Made everyone's face look gray. Made Jeanne-Marie look so cold. Even Jean-Paul looked a bit like a walking corpse, really. 

Warren sat down on the empty bed, where Jean had been. And settled himself in for a long, brooding vigil. 

And Jean-Paul didn't look up at him once. Like he didn't even know the other boy was in the room with him. Like there was nothing in the world but him and his sister.

* * *

Scott Summers felt like the World's Biggest Jerk.

Not only had his girlfriend been assaulted and harassed at a rally today, which was reason enough to be pissed... but he'd been planning all day to break up with her tonight. And that made him feel like a complete prick.

And on top of that, was the fact that everything else was wrong with the world as well. Jeanne-Marie had gone off the deep end again and used her powers in public, against a civilian, and was now lying in the medlab with a huge fucking bump on her head and some serious shock. Scott had also noticed someone commenting on JP's mood today and that it must have to do with Pietro skipping school, so he'd made the mistake of asking Jean-Paul what was up with Pietro... and been told in no uncertain terms that Jean-Paul was not interested in discussing it. "And if you bring it up again, you'll be breathing through a straw for the next five years." 

Turned out, no one had seen either Maximoff today. And Scott knew that Jean-Paul knew what was up, and it made him nervous, considering all the issues with Magneto, lately. And it was obvious that whatever had happened to the Maximoff's, Jean-Paul wasn't very happy about Pietro's disappearance. Even if he knew where his boyfriend (Scott didn't give a shit if JP referred to Pietro strictly as his friend, he knew a boyfriend when he saw one) had gone to, he still wasn't too excited about him being missing in action, that much was clear.

And now JP had _this _to deal with. So Scott was worried about him, obviously. Jeanne-Marie wasn't the only unstable Beaubier in the house– Jean-Paul pushed to his breaking point was a scary thing. As Scott had just joked with his friend, his jaw remembered all too well what it felt like. But this time, JP didn't look angry. 

He was sad.

Which made Scott very uncomfortable. Angry JP he could deal with. But sad, hurt JP... that was something he wasn't quite sure how to handle. 

But all of that was skirting his own personal issue, of course. The issue of Jean Grey, who had just been through hell and high water. 

Who he had been planning to dump.

Who, if she had not just been through this horrible experience, he would probably be on the phone with, breaking up, right now. 

Scott dragged a hand through his hair and sighed, and looked up at Jean quickly. She'd stopped crying, at least, which was good. Rogue had said she'd been crying when they'd found her and JM at the school. She was just holding Jeanne-Marie, apparently, sitting there, straight and tall, and crying. Silently. 

Oh god. Murphy's law was a bitch.

"Feeling better, Jean?" He asked, knowing it was lame. But he felt the need to say _something _to her. She was depending on him, if just a little. That she had come out from under Warren's arm to put her own arms around him the moment he entered the room had surprised him, really. She'd been so cold, for the past month or so...

"No," She admitted, with a sad smile. "Not better at all. I want to talk to Jeanne-Marie. I'm afraid. You didn't see her, Scott... she was..."

"Aurora," He finished for her. "And not the around-the-house, fighting with Roberto Aurora. I know, Jean. But that's Jeanne-Marie, she's just... like that. She'll be fine."

"I don't know. Something in her mind snapped, Scott. And it's my fault."

Now this was something new... "How can it be your fault?"

"She didn't want to go to the protest. I wanted to. This boy from class, he defended mutants in front of everyone. And he asked us... to come over. He said that since people know I'm a mutant, it would inspire them to be brave and stand up as well. To think of mutants as human as well," she was shaking her head now, and her long hair was falling out of her ponytail, into her eyes.

Absently, he reached up and tucked it behind her ear. And she moved a little closer to him on the couch.

He'd been about to break up with her. And oh god... he realized it with a terrible electric jolt to all his systems. Oh god, he still wanted to break up with her. 

But she was carrying on with her explanation, oblivious. 

Scott wasn't sure if that was lucky or not. But he didn't need to see in color to know that her eyes were tired, and likely red-rimmed. And he was her friend, or he was nothing at all. And he would be here for her however she needed him. 

"I made her go, because I wanted to... be a part of it. Of something like that. And she tried to protect me, but she couldn't. In her head, he was an enemy. She treated him like an enemy. And I've been so awful to her lately, I've been ignoring her phone calls and..."

Jean looked up, as her voice trailed off. And their eyes met. 

It was almost painful, really, the unspoken end of that sentence. It wasn't the end she'd wanted to give it probably. But as far as Scott was concerned, she might as well have said, "I've been ignoring her phone calls, and ignoring you." Because he knew it was true. She _had _been avoiding him. Leaving right after Danger Room sessions and meetings, ignoring his voice mails, his IMs. After a moment of looking at him, she winced, as if she could feel it.

How much it had hurt him. 

_Had _being the operative word. It was odd, he thought, but he now understood why it was he was so ready to break up with her. She'd been so cold, she'd hurt him so constantly... he'd just gotten numb. And he was so numb now that he couldn't feel the bad... or the good. There was no filter, on that kind of thing. You are on or off. And Scott had turned himself off to her, for the sake of his heart.

And now there was nothing. 

She'd probably done the same exact thing. They'd done it to each other.

"I'm sorry," She breathed, suddenly closing her eyes.

"Don't be," He returned, instantly. "It's ok now."

"Is it really?"

"One way or another Jean, we're going to be ok."

  
  
  
  


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: First off, slight apologies are in order. I've been slow. Once a week, pretty regularly, but still, that's slow for me. It's because We've also somehow been turning out Fallen Angels like there's no tomorrow (the Iceman arc was finished this week! Have a look, Sue and I are well pleased with ourselves, for once.) It's quite good for me to go back and forth between Evo and 616-- that way I don't get tired of either, and I don't forget that JP/JM are not my Evo version of themselves. Keeps me on my toes when writing the Canadian wonders. This story will never be abandoned, however, I am just obsessing over multiple storylines. Never fear, true believers.

Now, for the shout-outs!

_Relwarc_: Again with the brilliant feedback! JP and Warren have this horrible dynamic in Uncanny, and I wanted to reflect that. Over the exact same issue, in fact. Glad it was effective. Pietro, I figure, gets to be a _bit_ more ballsy because his options are so limited at the moment. He has only one choice offered to him, go and see what the hell is happening in Transia. And if he doesn't take it, spend the rest of his nights sleepless till the deprivation ends him, really. Amazing what the most cowardly individual can do under duress, don't you think? As for Jean... I have trouble with Jean. Any time I write her PoV it takes me ages. I'm really glad that it's been sucessful thus far, because I admit, I _do _worry about her the most. As to her motivation, it's one I'm all too familiar with. You get wrapped up in yourself, and you forget what you left behind, as far as I can see. The typical college problem, when you first go. She has other motivation, of course... but if you ask me, the show never really proved that to us. I'm casting around looking for it. I do hope I snag it. And Gambit/Rogue... I hate the pair, to be honest. That'll become clear eventually. I've hated them since she ditched him in Antarctica. In Evo, of course, she didn't... but Evo!Gambit, as you say, is a different entity entirely. Stalker. ;)

_cyberpilate_: I'm so glad you were happy with Gambit! He is my all time favorite X-Man, to be honest. Something about the rogueish nature in him appeals to me like you wouldn't believe. What can I say-- I'm a fangirl. But that doesn't mean I'm going to invent him as I'd like to see him, in Evo. I am terrified of writing Remy, thanks to the metric arseload of Gambit fanfic that I cannot _stand_, due to such foolish and flat characterization. Same old same old. Your words mean a lot to me, to think that I didn't fall into that trap as well. Not yet, anyhow... let's just hope I can keep it up. And as for Pietro... well, he _is _a coward. This is the boy who hid in the closet (and yes, pun intended) when his sister came searching for him, after all. A snotty, spiteful coward. Gods, but he's lovely.

_Taineyah_: Too kind of you. I really appreciate that you would say such things about my writing. You're a dear! Hope you continue to enjoy.

_Caliente_: Well, you knew I couldn't have her leave Sam without saying _something _didn't yer? Really pleased that you picked up on the dynamics I wanted for the X-Men and Warren-- His distaste for Wolverine, his mistrust of Gambit (though it hasn't become the flat out hatred 616 Archangel has... had... is he over that yet? I mean, he got his wings back, dammit...) And yes, Jean is Miss Perfect (I agree with Rogue's assesment in Evo entirely), and no, she can't handle being in second. And she knows it's wrong, and stupid, of course. But... yeah. I'm not a huge Jean fan. *ahem*

_UniversalAnimeGirl_: I definitely would like to see more of Pietro and Wanda being brother and sister, yes. It's an important relationship, in anyone's life, who has a sibling. And if you're not close to your sibs, you don't know what you're missing, know what I mean? As for Rogue and Scott, I honestly tried to think of who he would come to in the house for help. And Rogue is the only girl I can really remember him having an actual conversation with, in the show, other than Jean. And she's kind of a "cool" chick, so she wouldn't take things the wrong way. As for tonsil hockey in the movie theater... yes it happens! All the time! Well, ok maybe I was just a bad kid but... well I recommend the activity. Let's just leave it at that. It's such a fantastic part of growing up heh. I'm glad you're alright with Wanda-- in the show she only really started to have much personality after her mind got screwed with. So not a lot to go on there. But I'm working hard!

_Risty: _Thank you so much! Like I just said, Wanda is super important to me, and takes an _awful _lot of care to plan out and think like, so as to avoid canon-smashing. Not that I don't do that on occasion but... yeah. I do try!

_crazyspaceystracey_: I'm with you on Sam/Wanda. It's random, but I'm hooked. Sue reminded me about the haircut I think. Or it mighta been TKD. Someone was like "um how is he gonna explain that?" And of course, it would be JP. Bless him. Hope you're still enjoying!

_Regret1017_: Welcome back! As for the Morlocks... oh man... more characters?! If I try and do one more PoV I think I might explode ;) But yes, another JM/Warren believer! It _is _right! /cheer

_Angharad_: Thank you very much! Sorry about the author alerts thing, it's been flipping the hell out. Or it was. I surmise that it's fine now. Will JP meet Magneto? Well, mate, I could tell yer, but then I'd have to kill yer. And we can't have that! Read on!

That's all. Thanks for reading! 3 -Beaubier-


	9. Panic and Inspiration

Chapter Eight: Panic and Inspiration

Jeanne-Marie woke in a panic.

Her face was wet. Her body was shaking. Her head was pounding and she suddenly felt as if she would be violently ill...

::Jean-Paul?:: Her voice rattled, bounced off the walls of her skull and caused a flash of white pain to explode behind her eyes. She was crying, still. Hard.

::I'm here, sister,:: The reply was quiet, comforting. A hand on hers, warm and familiar.

The lights were so bright. She pushed herself up to sitting, eyes closed against their harshness, reaching for him. She felt the medcot give under him as he sat next to her, felt his arm around her shoulders, holding her up. She let her head come to rest on his shoulder, gently.

She had no idea why she was in the medlab, or why her head felt as if her brain had swollen while she slept... but she knew enough already to realize that being gentle with it was the best course of action. 

And she knew that she was scared. Horribly scared, so that she was starting to shake in her brother's arms. She moved closer to him and felt his shoulder growing wet as she cried. But she couldn't stop.

He shifted under her weight, gently, pushed her hair away from her face. 

Terror. Absolute, sudden terror, as she felt him move. She gripped his leg, hard, dug nails into his jeans. ::Don't leave me, Jean-Paul. Please, brother, don't leave me... they'll come for me...::

She didn't understand it until the words were out of her mouth. But once she did, it only made the terror grow exponentially. Made her stomach revolt, so that she could taste acid fear in the back of her throat. Made the tears flow harder, faster, until she felt that her eyes were on fire. 

Flashing red lights. Faceless people in a mob. Pushing. Something heavy. Metal. Flashing.

She cringed, from the inside out. Because she knew what those lights meant. 

Mutant. They'd hurt her because they knew she was a mutant.

::Shhhh, Jeanne-Marie,:: she heard her brother in her ear, felt his gentle hands on her face, drying her cheeks. They were wet again as soon as he finished. But the gesture itself, a gentle touch... she needed it. To be reminded of it, of that presence. Jean-Paul was there. With her.

::Please, don't leave me..."

::Shhhhh,:: He whispered, into her hair. So soft, he almost sounded like someone different. But she could _feel _him. Arm over her shoulders, mind brushing hers, hand on her face. ::No one will come for you. I'm here.::

::They will come,:: she insisted, sobbing the words into his shoulder, with great certainty.:: And they _know_, Jean-Paul. The red light... they know about me...::

::What do they know about you, sister?::

::They know,:: She dug her nails into his leg again, desperate, choking on the words, on the taste of her fear, ::I'm a mutant.:: 

Hands brushed her face again, dried her tears momentarily, and she heard her brother mutter something, felt it rumbling low in his chest as she clung to him. ::My god, Jeanne-Marie...::

She shook for a moment longer, felt him clutching her nightgown fitfully with one hand, smoothing her hair, her face, with the other. Eyes closed tight. But she could still see the lights flashing. 

Red lights, that meant that they knew. She was a mutant.

"Jeanne-Marie," A new voice, hesitant, hoarse, whispered. Familiar... safe?

She blinked, and turned her head, eyes slowly adjusting to the clinical glare. And saw him...

At first, she was scared, wondered where his sword was. Wasn't that the angel, from the window at Madame DuPont's? Had he finally come for her? For the abomination?

But... no. His eyes were gentle. They calmed something in her, some sort of nervous vibration in her stomach. As blue as the sky on a clear day, just as warm and full of light.

Yet... sad. 

She knew this golden angel with the wings. She loved him. He wasn't here to judge... but to... save?

"Warren...," She said the name as it came to her, knew it was his as it fell from her lips.

He smiled, slow and sad. And came to the side of the bed, reached out a hand for her. "Jeanne-Marie... I was so worried..." 

The words meant nothing to her, other than her name. But the low, sweet tones of her voice washed over her in a wave. And she reached out, took the hand he offered her, watched as it enveloped her own smaller one.

Yes. Safe.

She rested her head on her brother's shoulder again, and let go of a shaky sigh. Closed her eyes. ::Don't leave me, Jean-Paul. Tell him not to leave me.::

Her brother's voice was choked as he replied, ::We won't, sister. We won't leave.::

* * *

Things just... weren't supposed to happen this way.

Scott Summers always had a grip on things. Even when things went to hell, he knew what was happening. He dealt with things. That was what he did.

But at the moment, he wasn't sure whether he should be stepping forward, moving backwards, or doing a fucking Irish jig. Because any move he could make at the moment, only seemed like it would make things worse. 

He closed the door to Jean's room, as quietly as possible, leaving her sleeping on her old bed peacefully. She needed an afternoon nap– apparently she hadn't slept well the night before. Today, he'd lain there with her, while she calmed down. They hadn't said much. She'd clung to him, which she'd never really done before. Clung to him like she needed him, really. Like she needed _something_. 

Two weeks ago, he would've given his left arm for that.

But now... now he felt like he was choking on it. 

They hadn't been that close to each other in a long time. He hadn't kissed Jean, really kissed her, in weeks. Hadn't held her in longer. Hadn't had a conversation like the one they'd had earlier in at least as long. 

All it took to bring them back to it was a complete and utter cluster fuck, apparently. 

Some relationship.

He looked at his feet as he shuffled down the hallway, feeling like his lungs would burst with joy. He hadn't realized it at the time, but Jean's room had felt horribly suffocating. Like all the oxygen had gone out of it, somehow. 

And Scott felt even more like World's Biggest Jerk for thinking that. 

He turned the corner–

And stopped dead, suddenly face to face with an extremely shocked looking Rogue. Her pale eyes were wide, and her face growing a little darker, which he knew well enough meant that she was flushing under the layers of pale make-up she always hid behind. 

Scott blinked at her for a minute, surprised. He hadn't realized it was so late– were they home from school already? He must have been in there with Jean for over an hour before she finally passed out...

"Uh... sorry, Scott," The southern girl fumbled, strangely flustered. "I'm just on my way to my room..."

"You ok?" He asked, noticing that her voice was a little breathier than usual. "You look a little flushed."

Rogue looked down now, then flicked her eyes back up to his, quickly. "I'm fine. Just... Remy. You know."

Scott sighed. One more thing. Great.

"Is he bothering you, Rogue? I can have a talk with him–,"

"Don't be stupid, Scott, I can handle it," She rolled her eyes, but was obviously irritated not only by his suggestion, but by Gambit's attentions as well. "And it's not like he's _doing _anything..." 

Scott cocked his head at her as she trailed off, and narrowed his eyes slightly, to let her know that there was no way she was getting away with giving him that little information. Rogue definitely looked uncomfortable. He wasn't the best at reading his friends, but he could tell that much just from the look on her face. Normally, the pale girl looked bored or thoughtful. Right then she just looked... irritated. "What did he say?"

"Nothing... can we go outside or something?"

He blinked, confused for just a moment. Then nodded. Of course. Gambit was a thief, first and foremost. He could be anywhere, and she probably didn't want him following her around, listening to her every conversation. "Yeah, let's go take a walk. You need a coat?"

She shook her head, "I'm fine."

Somehow, Scott doubted it. 

~~~~~~~

"He's just... _everywhere_," Rogue was saying, looking around as if she believed her own words quite literally. "I mean, he was at school today. I saw him, when I looked out the window. It's..."

"Creepy?" Scott finished, eyebrows raised high. Ok this was definitely not acceptable. He was going to have to talk to the Professor about this, because stalking Rogue was absolutely _not _an option if Gambit wanted to hang around the X-Men. It was just... yeah. Creepy. 

Of course, he found a lot of things about the Cajun mutant creepy.

She was hugging herself, obviously having lied about being "fine" to come outside without a coat. It was a warm day, for the beginning of November, because the sun was bright. But any time there was shade, it was clear that winter wasn't far away– there was a biting sort of chill to the air. "Yeah, kinda... I mean, I know he wouldn't hurt me–,"

"Rogue, with all due respect, he_ kidnapped_ you," Scott pointed out, less than gently, despite his words. 

"I was going to run away anyhow."

Surprised, he furrowed his brow at her. "You were?"

She looked away, quickly, pale eyes darting. "Forget it, ok? I'm here now. The thing is... he understands things about me that... Scott, you know I love the X-Men, but some things, y'all just can't understand. Not even Kurt."

Scott considered this, carefully. Trying _very _hard not to take it personally, but finding it surprisingly difficult. He tried to look at it from his Cyclops perspective– teammate is irritated, not necessarily threatened, but some kind of action needs to be taken...

And instead, he was only getting Scott perspective. Which was pretty much– _But I told her about Jean and she can't tell me about this? What is it that I couldn't understand?_

He shook his head, physically trying to rid himself of such stupid thoughts. Not like he and Rogue were ever best friends... just... well, he felt kind of stupid. Not only was he the World's Biggest Jerk for wanting to break up with Jean... but Rogue and Jean-Paul knew he had wanted to break up with her. He'd told them both in no uncertain terms, before the whole protest debacle. And they'd listened rather well, made him feel better about it. Even JP, really, despite his recent... issues with Pietro. He'd been distracted, but not like he was now... now that JM was injured... 

And crazy again.

But that was another kettle of fish. 

"And Remy... understands?" He ventured, after he managed to push away the strangely irritating idea that he, himself, _couldn't _understand.

Rogue only shrugged, at his side, "Yeah. He does."

"Rogue... are you thinking of...?"

She looked up at him, and narrowed her eyes. And he didn't need to finish his question. Was she thinking of _dating _Gambit or something? His obsession with her was growing more and more obvious the longer he stayed. But she had been strangely neutral about him. Outwardly, anyhow. "What if I am?"

He raised an eyebrow again, and felt a half-smile appear on his face. "Just asking. Because if you are... not that I think you should... but we should be prepared, right? I mean... someone needs to watch your back."

And just as fast as she'd looked suspicious, Rogue's face suddenly relaxed, and she shook her head. "No. I could never trust him. My god, Scott, I wish things were like they used to be, and I could just be..."

But she trailed off, and suddenly looked away from him, wrapping her arms around herself again. Obviously she was cold... but it was more than that. And he knew it. 

He just wasn't sure what more it actually _was_. 

Either way, she was obviously freezing. And he could at least do something about _that_, even if he wasn't sure what to do about Gambit. She didn't even seem to know how she felt herself, when it came to the Cajun Casanova, so he wasn't sure that he could do anything much... except try and get her to talk. And watch her back, like he'd said. He pulled his sweater off over his head, feeling the bite of the air on his skin instantly, even through the short-sleeved t-shirt he had on underneath, and held it out to her. Oddly enough, the very sweater she'd bought him for Christmas last year. 

She looked at the sweater, then up at him. Obviously disbelieving what she was seeing. "You're kidding."

"Take it. I'm fine," He insisted, suddenly realizing that he was putting his life in danger. If he'd done that to Jean, she probably would've sent him flying into the side of the house. She wasn't much for the chivalry that was just... second nature to him. It wasn't even that she was a girl... well ok, it was a little. But honestly, he would've offered it to Alex or Jean-Paul or Kurt... well, probably. 

For another moment, she just looked at the sweater. And finally, she reached out and took it, surprising the hell out of him. He half expected to be knocked unconscious. 

_Phew. Close one. Think a little harder next time, Summers._

"So," He shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis and waited for her to pull the sweater over her head. "What is it that you wish was the same as it was back then? Cause I've been thinking the same thing lately."

Her head poked out of the fuzzy thing, and she smoothed it down carefully, then tucked her hair behind her ears before answering, "Just stuff, you know? I mean, last year I never really expected to be living in the same house with Gambit. And anyhow I was...," She stopped again and cocked an eyebrow, considering him carefully. 

"What?" He laughed, starting to walk again, now that she was situated. The sweater was way too big for her smallish frame, bit it looked kind of cute over that little black skirt and tights she had going on. Quite a contrast. And so _not _Rogue. Way too preppy, and way too baggy, at the same time. 

"I had a crush on you then."

Scott almost tripped, as he forced himself to start walking again.

He recovered from his fumbled step quickly, mind racing, and swallowed hard. 

She... had a crush on him?!

Well, not anymore, of course. That was stupid, because if she did, she wouldn't have told him...

Oh. Shit. Well that explained...

Yeah. Everything. 

"Um...," He struggled for something to respond to that with, unable to look over at her. He couldn't make himself. He was just... stunned. Even if he could kinda see it now... damn. He'd had... _no _idea. "Um, I... I didn't know that."

Rogue actually laughed, and gave him an almost playful shove in the arm. "No shit, Sherlock. You're just about daft when it comes to that kind of thing aren't you?"

He looked at the ground hard, and felt his cheeks burning. Oh man... talk about embarrassing... and all this time... "Uh... guess so."

"Oh don't freak on me, Scott, it's over," She laughed again, "I just mean... you know it was so simple, that crush. And this thing with Remy, it's so... complicated. I mean... I'm attracted to him. But what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? I mean, it's not like I can _touch _him. Even if I really wanted to. So if I can't trust him, if I'm not really sure if I even _like _him, some useless attraction really doesn't seem like much of a reason to give him a shot, you know?"

Mind still racing, Scott nodded. And kept looking at the ground. Holy Jesus... she had liked him! Wow, what a complete idiot he'd been. Not that he had felt the same, he had been too busy wishing Jean would dump that asshole Duncan...

Oh right. The Remy thing. "Uh... yeah. And I don't trust him either, to be honest. None of us really do. He has to prove himself. And if you wanted to... uh, date him then, I mean, that's your choice, but... yeah. He's um..."

He felt her cold, thin hand on his arm now, through her gloves. "You ok? I shouldn't have told you that, maybe, I just... I mean I thought it'd be ok now..."

"No, it's fine," he insisted, finally looking up at her, catching her eyes with his again. And swallowing hard. It _was _fine. Right? "I just... I didn't know, you know? Just surprised me."

"Yeah, well," She rolled her eyes at him, "Like I said, you're kinda stupid about things like that, Scott."

"Yeah," He gave her a lopsided grin. "Apparently."

A pained look appeared on her face, and she kept walking. But she didn't take her hand off his arm. So he sort of... wrapped his arm around hers, so they were walking with them linked. Just kind of... instinctively. And wondered why he was having to swallow so much all of a sudden. 

"How's Jean, speaking of which? I'm guessing you never got around to..."

"No," He shook his head, another wave of shame suddenly threatening to pull him under again. "God, I feel like a dick, Rogue."

The goth girl shrugged, "I don't see why. You didn't know she was going to get her ass beat. And it's nice of you to stick with her and help her out like this. Even if you don't want to."

"I didn't say I didn't want to," he responded, far too sharply, he knew.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I know. I was just saying, if you didn't, it wouldn't make you a bad person."

Swallow. Again. Scott looked straight ahead, and nodded, stiffly. "Yeah. I guess not. Sorry. I'm just worried. About you, about Gambit, about Jeanne-Marie and Jean-Paul. And Jean."

_Jesus, Summers, defensive much? _

"Don't worry 'bout me," she muttered, and even though he wasn't looking at her anymore, he could _feel _her rolling her eyes again. "Jean-Paul is the one who needs worrying about. Boy is definitely not dealing so well. Where the fuck is Pietro, anyhow?"

"No one knows," Scott admitted, grudgingly. He still wasn't too happy about that fact– the Maximoffs coming up missing when their father was in the same state was _definitely _not a good sign, no matter how he looked at it. He'd decided, overnight, that they'd either gone after him, or he'd come for them. One meant that they were idiots. The other meant that Magneto was a liar, and hadn't been kidnapped at all, but was hatching another nefarious plan to rid the world of humanity's influence. And neither boded well for Jean-Paul Beaubier, who happened to be his most immediate concern. Both as an X-Man, and as a friend. 

And anyhow, he was happy to have a chance to get off the subject of himself. Him and Jean. Him and _Rogue_. Which he was still reeling from, incidentally...

"I think Jean-Paul _might _know. But if he does, he won't talk until he's ready. You know him. And with JM crying and babbling in French all morning..."

Rogue was shaking her head– he could see it out of the corner of his eye. "I heard, when we got home. He was with her all day, huh?"

"Wouldn't leave until just an hour ago, when Hank kicked him and Warren out. But she was recognizing Warren too, so... I guess that's good. She didn't freak out about him, anyhow. And she was trying to tell Hank something. Jean-Paul just said she was talking about the Mutant Detection System non-stop, when she would speak. She's afraid to leave the house, thinks someone will hurt her for being a mutant. She's...," But he just shook his head, thinking of the stories he'd heard from the medlab today; none of them from Jean-Paul, most from Warren. Jean-Paul, as far as he knew, hadn't spoken to anyone but his sister and Hank all day. And Jeanne-Marie hadn't spoken a word of English, and only stopped crying just before she fell asleep, only to wake up crying again. Every time. 

"She's lost it, is what you're saying," Rogue sighed, sounding defeated. "I feel bad for the girl, but honestly... sometimes I think it's harder on JP."

Scott gave a sad kind of half-laugh at that. "I know exactly what you mean."

"Guess it's good that she wasn't expected to go get into Ex-Gen with Warren then... can you imagine if this had happened to her there?"

He shook his head again, guiltily. So guilty, in fact, he almost couldn't choke out words. He'd honestly thought that JM could handle that kind of mission. He'd even recommended her for it. What if they'd listened to him? Jeanne-Marie would recover from her condition, this time. For all he knew, she was back to her normal self right this very moment. But he still felt horrible for his misjudgment. It could've cost Jeanne-Marie a lot more than just a bout with her disorder, and Jean-Paul... he didn't even want to _think _about what it would've done to Jean-Paul. "I don't even want to consider it. Anyhow, Warren can't even get in now. There's still no word from Ex-Gen, and Warren is starting to freak out."

"Remy wants to break in, get the info that way. He says they're probably on to Warren, by now."

Scott felt his eyebrow shoot up in alarm. "No. No way. Forget it."

She shrugged, "It's what he does, Scott. He's a thief. And a damn good one."

"No way. If he blows it, he blows our entire shot at cracking this open. And last time he tried to sneak around with Sinister involved, _he _got ripped open. Forget it," He stated, emphatically. But it made him nervous, just the thought of it. Because Remy LeBeau seemed like the kind of guy that even if you _told _him, flat out, no... if he _wanted_ to hear yes, he'd go and do it anyhow. 

"Don't rule it out before you see what we have to work with, Scott," she said, shaking her head. "I don't like it either, but I think Gambit learned his lesson the first time. I don't think he'd get caught twice. And I do think he'd die before he gave away any information about us."

"How can you know that?" Scott sighed, frustrated beyond belief with the entire question of Gambit. The whole thing was just... ridiculous! In fact... yeah! It made him _mad_. "He's a thief, a kidnapper, a stalker, and a former Acolyte. He's not to be trusted. You, the Professor, even Logan now... everyone seems to think it's just fine to let him stay here with the X-Men, all at once. Why?"

Rogue smiled at him, oddly enough. "Damn, Scott. You want to talk about it?"

And suddenly, he found himself grinning back. Wryly but... well he didn't really feel like he was holding a pressure cooker in his head anymore, anyhow. Maybe he_ had _sounded a little like he needed some therapy there... "Yeah... heh... guess I do."

She gave a snort, and rolled her eyes again, but was still smiling. "All we can do is wait him out. I just get irritated with him, because he confuses me. But I know... I _know _he won't sell us out, ever. He never sold Magneto out. He still won't. Not to Sinister, and not to the X-Men. And his family... I just... I understand him, when it comes to this."

For some reason, Scott hated the sound of that. He made an annoyed face, he knew he did, but he couldn't stop it. So he just looked away from her, instead, and kept walking. "So then, you _do _trust him?"

"I wasn't sure at first... but I trust him to be an X-Man, yeah. Whether or not I trust him with me... no, Scott. I don't. Two very different things, though."

She had a point, really. 

But that didn't mean he had to agree. "I'm not convinced, Rogue. But I guess I can give him a shot. He screws up one time and–,"

"Ok, Mr. Military," She was rolling her eyes again, "I get it. You got my back."

He looked down at her, walking next to him, on his arm in that over-sized sweater that didn't match her goth makeup and clothes at all... and smiled. Because really... "Yeah. I do."

And everything else that was crashing in... he would handle that too. He just needed to think it through. And everything would be ok... 

* * *

Alex was stressed. 

Super hella stressed, in fact. Ray was being moody and never wanted to hang out anymore, which of course led to a massive bout of paranoia for Alex. Naturally, the surfer-boy figured that Ray had probably found out about his stupid, impossible to shake crush on him, and was freaking out about it. Jean-Paul was a wreck thanks to Pietro disappearing (at least, that was what everyone was saying), and his sister being stuck in the medlab after being jumped at NYS by mutant haters, so he sure as hell couldn't go to him for one of their little talks. And Scott had been a wreck for almost two weeks now, over Jean. He hadn't _told _his little brother it was because of Jean, per se, but Alex wasn't stupid. Jean was never around, and Scott never talked about her anymore. That was all the indication he needed. Bobby, Sam, and Roberto were still kinda out of the loop, even though Alex had slipped up around Bobby the other day and said something about a guy on TV being hot. 

Not that he even thought of it as slipping up anymore. Just that he hadn't really _said _anything to his friends, per se, aside from Ray. He didn't care if they knew, he just didn't so much feel like having a nice big coming out party. Announcing to a roomful of New Mutants, "Hey everyone, I'm gay!" Didn't really seem like his style.

Although the prospect of it did make him laugh, at least. 

Anyhow, the point was, he wasn't sure who to talk to. And once again, he _needed _to talk. Or to surf. And that was pretty much out, in November in New York. 

Maybe the coming out party wasn't such a bad idea after all.

He hit the bottom of the stairs just as the door opened, and he saw Scott holding the door open for Rogue as they came in, seemingly from a walk to somewhere or other. Scott was in a plain white T-shirt and khakis, not terribly abnormal, even though the day was cold, but Rogue looked... funny. She had on Scott's stripey sweater over her tiny skirt. And she had Scott's arm wrapped around hers.

Dude. Weird. They totally looked... like a couple.

Alex considered this, as the two talked a little longer and Scott closed the door behind them. But Rogue started off toward the basement soon, and Scott turned around and started coming in the direction of the stairs.

And only then did he notice his kid brother, standing there, watching him.

Alex smiled brightly, noticing that Scott didn't look _quite _as annoyed as he had looked in the recent past. "Heya bro. How you doing?"

Scott stepped up to stand next to him, and leaned on the banister on the other side of the stairs. "Not so great, kid. How about with you?"

Alex adopted a similar position, leaning on his own railing, turning to face his brother. After he'd done it, it struck him just how much alike he and Scott probably looked right then, despite the fact that their features were almost totally dissimilar. But the way they were standing, unconsciously, was almost exactly the same. One arm on the banister, one leg crossed over the other. They were even kinda built the same– broad shoulders that tapered down to deceptively slim hips and long legs. 

Heh. Never noticed that before really. Guess there was no denying some things.

"Jean ok?" He asked, not feeling much like beating around the bush. It hadn't _only _been bothering him that he had no one to talk to about his stupid issues with Ray. In fact, an equal or greater part of the frustration was that there was nothing he could do for either of the older boys he trusted so much– Scott and JP. Scott was always busy, running around, angsting. And Jean-Paul... well, he knew better than to just walk up to Jean-Paul and expect him to spill his guts. Dude was _definitely _not into that scene. And Alex liked his jaw right where it was, so he wasn't about to piss the guy off.

Scott nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I think so. She's still feeling guilty. Thinks it's her fault, about Jeanne-Marie."

Alex honestly... didn't like Jean that much. She was very capable, smart, pretty. She was probably the perfect girl, in fact. But damn... she was a bitch. Of course, so was Jean-Paul. But JP seemed to have some redeeming qualities, hidden under there. And JP hadn't been fucking his big brother over, emotionally, for the past few weeks either. Which was the _real _reason Alex didn't much care for her. "Well, it's not," he shrugged, still managing some kind of sympathy for her plight, despite his dislike of her. He never could manage to be outright _mean _to the people he disliked. Even when he tried to be, he usually forgot once he was around them. "She gonna be ok?"

"I think once JM is ok, Jean will be," His head was still shaking, in a very strange, unfamiliar admission of... helplessness on the part of his brother. "She just needs to realize that things like this are going to happen– the secret is out, and mutants are known to everyone. We're going to be feared. We're going to be hated. We're going to be abused. And sometimes... we're going to get hurt."

Alex felt his brow furrow, as he considered the total downer Scott had just brought to his attention. "Dude... that's so hella lame."

A crooked, half-baked smile appeared on his brother's face. "Yeah. It is hella lame."

"So uh...," The surfer-boy looked over his shoulder once, to make sure she was long gone before asking, eager to change the subject. Like he wanted to think about _that _right now. Add depression to stress, great idea. "What's with you and Rogue?"

One of Scott's eyebrows shot up, and Alex could see the eyes behind those ruby shades dart to where the goth girl had last been, before coming back to him. "Long story. I'll tell you some time. But... nothing, man. There's nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing," Alex grinned, pleased at the prospect of having some Scott time. They hadn't really talked since they'd sorted out the whole thing about Scott's reaction to his... orientation. It had been a good talk, he felt a lot better about it, obviously. But... well half the reason he was here was to hang out with Scott, really. Brothers had to stick together, after all.

Scott actually laughed, and shook his head, "Didn't feel like nothing, I guess. We'll talk soon, ok? You look like you could use it. I gotta go find the Professor and Warren right now, though. Busy tomorrow after school?"

"No, man."

"We're going for pizza. I'll pick you up."

Alex nodded, still grinning, as his brother started to ascend the stairs. 

And found that he felt a little better, suddenly. 

Ok so, Scott was there. Maybe he could let the guy talk a little, alleviate some of his stress. On that thought, Alex took off for the kitchen, suddenly feeling a very strong need for a little Phish Food ice cream, which he'd stashed there last weekend. Assuming Bobby hadn't gotten to it first. That kid and the amount of ice cream he could eat were just... disturbing. And then there was Kurt, who would eat _anything_...

He turned the corner into the kitchen, and saw the other guy he'd kinda been wanting to talk to for about a week now, Jean-Paul. Sitting at the table, slumped low. Staring at a glass of milk as if he'd never seen such a thing before.

"Um... dude, did the milk do something funny, or are you just staring through it?"

The speedster looked up, sharply, and opened his mouth as if to retaliate.

Alex braced for impact, suddenly wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

But Jean-Paul closed his mouth, just as quickly as he'd looked up, and blinked at Alex. Once. Twice. 

Alex shifted, nervously. Uncertain. Dude...

"It does tricks, I swear I saw it," JP finally drawled, in the driest tone of voice Alex could ever remember hearing from him. He was surprised, in fact, that the darker boy wasn't spitting out sand with his words.

Wow. He must _really _be fucked up. JP just cracked a joke. And it wasn't at anyone else's expense.

Alex moved to the freezer, grinning just a little despite the obvious severity of his friend's situation, retrieved his Ben and Jerry's and then found two spoons in the drawer before returning to sit across from their resident speedster. Who was, he noted, still staring at the milk.

He dropped a spoon in front of the other boy, and started digging in, himself. "Have some sugar, man. I know you like it."

"Are you hitting on me, Alex?"

This time, the younger boy actually laughed aloud at JP's wry joke. "Guess that did sound kinda bad. You want some sugar, baby?"

"I do," Jean-Paul answered, picking up a spoon listlessly, retrieving himself a giant mound of chocolate and marshmallows, and staring at it with the same intensity with which he'd been staring at the milk.

Alex just shook his head, still laughing, but kind of sadly. He melted the ice cream in his mouth, precisely the way he always did, then swished it around a little bit. Then chewed up the chunky bits of chocolatey fish-shaped things. As he did so, he considered the boy sitting across from him, carefully.

Dude had really helped him out, a while ago. It kinda seemed stupid, now, how freaked out he'd been. But he'd honestly been afraid that there was something wrong with him, when he couldn't stop thinking about Ray being naked and possibly wet or covered in some kind of edible substance or...

Right. Not the time or place for that.

But anyhow, yeah. JP had totally helped him feel more... normal again. And it kinda hurt, to see dude looking so... sad. JP never looked sad, usually. It wasn't his style. Pissed off. Irritated. Even amused, yeah. But never sad. Never... well, vulnerable. 

And dude was definitely looking vulnerable, at the moment. As instinctively wrong as it seemed. "So... how's JM?"

At first, there was no reply. And Alex felt his heart speed up, just like it always did when he was feeling particularly intimidated. JP was weird like that. He could either be the nicest, most approachable, funny dude in the world, or he could be the most impossible, scary bastard ever. And it could change without notice. 

The surfer-boy shifted in his chair, uncomfortably. And stared into the vat of ice cream hard. Maybe he should just like... leave.

But after a moment that felt like an hour, Jean-Paul finally said, "I think she'll be ok soon. She feels ok, you know? In my head. Not completely better but... fuck." 

And with that, the Canadian X-Man jammed his spoon violently back into the Phish Food, and came back up with a huge pile of chocolate. Which he immediately shoved into his mouth.

Alex would've laughed, if he wasn't so worried. Jean-Paul was so fucking weird sometimes... funny when he was at his most pissed off... or depressed... or whatever. Dude made no sense at all. "It's ok dude. I mean, I just wondered if you were... alright and stuff. You don't need to talk about it, don't."

Jean-Paul looked up now, mouth full of chocolate, blue eyes latching on to Alex's with his usual intensity. The guy was just a walking contradiction today. His eyes were so... intense. Freezing and burning, at once. And he was sitting there with his cheeks puffed out and full of ice cream, at the same time. Alex watched, with a strange sort of awe creeping over him, as it sometimes did when he talked to the older boy, as Jean-Paul swallowed once, then finally said, "I don't think I want to talk about it, no. But the ice cream is good."

Understandable. So Alex nodded at him once, and licked off his spoon. Sure, he wanted JP to feel like he could talk to him. But obviously... JP didn't. He'd started to... but he'd stopped. But at least he hadn't kicked him out of the kitchen. 

So the two boys sat in a mostly-comfortable silence, until the pint was finished off. 

* * *

Warren tried to walk calmly down the hallway. Tried not to race. But he'd been informed that he could see Jeanne-Marie again, now that she was awake, and... he could hardly wait.

Of course, she hadn't spoken a word to him since she'd become coherent again, just babbled to her brother in their strange Quebecois dialect that he could only decipher a few words of. She'd spent most of her time clinging to Jean-Paul, in fact. But JP (or, as some of the younger mutants seemed to refer to him, Dude Beaubier...) had been surprisingly alright with his presence, since his sister had recognized and accepted him at first sight when she woke up. 

He was particularly grateful for that. Hank had warned him that she may not know him, that there was a possibility she would have shut down part of her brain, or that one or more personalities might have been damaged temporarily, or various other horrible situations that could possibly occur for someone like Jeanne-Marie after a traumatic experience. But when she'd reached out for him... when she'd said his name...

He had let himself believe it was going to be ok. His heart had stopped beating for a moment, his breath hitched, almost painfully. But he let himself believe. 

Jean-Paul hadn't said much, just a few muttered words here and there, when he needed something for JM, or had to stretch, or leave the room for a few moments. Warren was dying to ask him a million questions, but the younger boy's stormy face was more than enough advertisement for silence. For respect, really. Angel hadn't really noticed it before, but he did, in fact, have a strange sort of respect by association for Jean-Paul Beaubier. He was JM's brother, of course, which was enough in itself... but he liked the way the other boy always seemed so composed. Even though he looked ready to cry now and then, Jean-Paul had still been a hell of a trooper through the whole ordeal. Warren had tears in his eyes more than once, feeling her tiny, cold hand in his, listening to her mumble in Québécois as JP tried to soothe her, futilely. 

It just... it wasn't the Jeanne-Marie he knew. She was strong. She was brilliant. She was in a class above every other person he'd ever met in his life, in her capacity to overcome any obstacle thrown in her path, and to make it look easy. 

But, he realized, it _was _Jeanne-Marie. It was a part of her. Not a flaw, this disorder. Just another part of what made her who she was. And he'd have to love her for it. Not in spite of it. 

He could do that, he'd decided, rather quickly. He just needed time.

And he just needed to see her. 

He reached the door to her private room in the medlab, after what seemed like an eternity, and raised his hand to knock... but stopped when he saw that she already had company. In the form of a slim, dark boy. Her ex-boyfriend, in fact. Roberto DaCosta.

His first reaction was _Oh my god, she's going to be ok!_ She was talking to someone! Obviously in plain English! She was sitting up, nodding, without hanging on her brother for support. She was going to be ok!

Not that he'd thought she wouldn't... just... god... god, she was ok. It felt like his heart started beating again, like his blood started to pump. He hadn't even realized he'd felt that it had stopped but... he had. And now... it was going to be all right. His hopes were fulfilled, and it was all going to be all right.

But his second reaction was _Oh my god, what's _he_ doing in there?_

Involuntarily, Warren furrowed his brow. He didn't know the kid at all, of course. Other than to know that he was one of the New Mutants, called Sunspot, and he was ridiculously strong when charged up with solar energy. And he thought he was a player.

Which was fine, as far as Warren was concerned. As long as he wasn't _playing_ with Jeanne-Marie.

She was smiling at the Brazilian boy, and speaking now. Damn, she'd come out of her trance and he hadn't even been there. She was talking to her ex-boyfriend instead...

Who, he reminded himself, was roughly 16 years old. Way too young to be a threat. Warren was 20 years old, after all, far more mature, considerate... well, anyhow, he definitely loved her more. Could love her more. Wanted to love her more? 

Hell. Whatever. 

Jeanne-Marie suddenly looked up, and caught sight of him at the window, his hand poised to knock. Pale blue eyes met his through the glass... and she smiled. 

He waved, and nodded his head to the side, as if to say, "I'll be right here."

She nodded, a barely visible motion, still smiling, and looked back to Roberto. 

He imagined she did so reluctantly, even though she probably hadn't. It helped ease the twinge of jealousy he was feeling at the moment, however. He stepped away from the door, and looked around the medlab, feeling slightly lost. What should he do? Stand around in the clinic and be annoyed with DaCosta for seeing his girlfriend before he had? Wait... no.

Not his girlfriend. Who ever said that Jeanne-Marie was his girlfriend? She hadn't. But... well she acted like it. They acted like it. He wanted it. 

But his internal diatribe was interrupted by the quiet beep of his cell phone from his pocket. He'd forgotten he'd turned it back on, once he'd gone upstairs to let JM sleep. He knew he had about five messages, three of which were from his parents in London, whom he'd been avoiding even more than usual lately...

Ottawa, Ontario, the caller ID said. 

Warren shrugged to himself, and hit the green button that would answer the call. "Warren Worthington."

"Mr. Worthington," A familiar voice, a voice that just _sounded _like its owner was smiling, came over the line. "Hello. Walter Langkowski here."

Of course! He'd spoken to the doctor not a few days ago about a project he'd worked on, one funded by Worthington Industries, and Xavier had given him that number for the man at his Department, where he now worked for the Canadian government. He seemed like a good sort, a nice guy who was completely unaware that he was a genius. The sort Warren could just imagine being completely content buried in a lab with piles of books and machinery, and not even noticing twenty years passing by. Guileless and clever and brilliant, with the youth and energy to make things happen. 

And at least _partially _responsible for the creation of the very Mutant Detection System that Jeanne-Marie was now so terrified of. 

But that wasn't his fault, of course. "Call me Warren, Doctor. Good to hear from you again. How goes the research?"

"Please, just Walter... or Walt," The Canadian laughed. "And it goes well. Just calling to update you on the project I was telling you about the other day. The genetic manipulation?"

Slowly, Warren nodded. The idea itself had, admittedly, freaked him out a bit. But if it worked, it would render any mutant completely undetectable by any kind of technology– making them _appear _just the same, genetically, as a flatscan human, without changing their genetic makeup enough to render their mutation ineffective. But he hadn't actually expected that it would ever... _work_. He'd told Langkowski to call him, however, if things got moving. A good man like this one was too rare to let fall into the hands of some nefarious corporation like ExGen, and if he needed to hire him himself, or at least fund his research, which Warren truly believed had the best of intentions, he'd do it. "Yes, I remember. You've had some success, then?"

"Total success!" He exclaimed, obviously overjoyed. "I've rendered myself and several volunteers completely undetectable to any form of MDS, both the common form and the experimental. It's been a breakthrough week."

Warren felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Really. Who volunteered for_ that _experiment?"

A slight pause, then a mildly embarrassed-sounding, "I did it to myself first. The procedure is painless, it just requires some _minor _reconfiguration, and a bit of masking. I'd love to have you come and have a look at it, some time, if your schedule permits."

Figures. If only ExGen would call and tell him the same thing. But still... it did bear looking into. If this man had accomplished what he thought he'd accomplished... not that Warren would ever want to mask his mutation (well, from anyone but his family, but that was another story altogether...). But for someone who couldn't hide behind millions of dollars, or a place like the Xavier Institute, it could be a lifesaving technology.

At least, he should keep tabs on the technology. Lest it fall into the wrong hands. Lest _Langkowski _fall into the wrong hands. "I'd like to, Doc– Walter. In fact, my... girlfriend has recently had a bad run in with an MDS... so it's pretty personal right now."

Whoa. He hadn't even realized it until he'd said it but...

Ok, so maybe that had a lot to do with his interest. He could make it sound business-like all he wanted, but at the end of the day...

"I'm sorry to hear that," The doctor sounded truly apologetic, and disappointed. "If she wanted to undergo the procedure, I can assure you it's perfectly safe. My mutation is still completely active, as are the mutations of all the others–,"

"I don't know that it'll be necessary," Warren said quickly. For some reason the idea of this man undergoing his own procedure was fine. But the idea of Jeanne-Marie undergoing it was just... disturbing. "But I appreciate the thought. I have an upcoming trip planned, so I wouldn't be able to make it to Ottawa for a few weeks, I'd think–,"

But JM's door was opening now, slowly, and he could hear voices coming from inside. Roberto was backing out, nodding at whatever Jeanne-Marie was saying to him. 

"But I'll definitely be in contact before then. Thank you for letting me know. I'm sorry to cut this short but she's–,"

"I understand," Walter was chuckling. "I caught you at a bad time. Go be with her."

"Thanks," Warren sighed, watching Roberto closely. But then, it suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what sort of mutation this super-genius doctor guy had. So he asked, "One more thing, if you don't mind. And if you don't want to answer, I completely understand. But... what _is _your mutation?"

"Oh, of course. I turn into Sasquatch, effectively. Interesting, eh?"

Warren actually laughed. That was about the last answer he expected from this well-spoken young inventor and scientist. "That's one word for it."

"You?"

"I have wings."

"Impressive. I hope to speak to you again soon, Warren."

"Same here. Thank you for the update."

"Of course. Good luck with the girlfriend."

Warren smiled, and hung up. And Roberto turned around, and looked him in the eye. 

The blonde man nodded, slightly. He didn't have anything much to say to the kid, after all. The flash of jealousy was gone, after the strangely heartening conversation with Langkowski. And anyhow, JM was better. Everything would be ok. 

He just needed to get in there and see her.

Roberto nodded in return, however, and then his dark eyes fell to the floor. He walked silently past the older boy, after that, without a word.

And Warren actually felt a sudden, strange twinge of sympathy for the boy. Because it occurred to him, when he saw the pained expression on the New Mutant's face, that Roberto DaCosta knew exactly what he was missing. 

But it was his turn now, and he couldn't wait any longer, so he made his way into the small room, closed the door behind him, and went to Jeanne-Marie's side instantly. Smiling like an idiot. "JM, I'm so glad you're feeling better," He gushed, Langkowski and DaCosta completely gone from his mind the moment he entered the room, saw her pale but smiling face. He wanted to say so many other things, he knew he sounded like an idiot...

But he couldn't think of anything important, or impressive to say, at the moment. And he didn't much care.

"I'm ok, Warren. The Professor told me what happened. I don't remember, but he says I've been crying... my eyes feel like it though," She gave a sad smile, and reached out her hand for his.

Immediately, he complied, and took the tiny hand offered to him. Rather clumsily, he thought. And he nodded, "Yes, crying. Jean-Paul and I have hardly left you, until just now."

"That's what Berto said," She told him, quietly. "He said he wanted to come see me, but he's too frightened of both of you."

Warren wasn't sure how to react to that. Certainly explained the kid's unwillingness to look him in the eye for very long, of course. And obviously he had reason to be afraid of Jean-Paul...

"Intimidated, maybe, is the better word," She amended, with a smile that Warren could only classify as saintly. 

"He misses you," he said, before he could stop himself.

She nodded, "A little, I think. He's fine though. Who were you talking to?"

Right. JM had just awakened, after all. They didn't need to be talking about ex-boyfriend issues, and they certainly didn't need to launch into her injuries and episodes right then. Calm conversation was what she needed, to make her feel more comfortable. He shook his head, to clear away the lingering doubts and issues there, and replied. "This Canadian doctor, Walter Langkowski. He just called to let me know about some research of his."

And of course, once he'd said it, he realized that he'd told her about Walter before. And she knew what kind of research he was involved in. And that was _definitely _not a subject she needed to be reminded of, as fragile as her mind must be at the moment. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened. But she didn't speak.

Fuck. _Real bright, Worthington. You complete idiot!_

But she recovered quickly, and asked, "Has he had success with his research?"

Slowly, Warren nodded. And squeezed her hand. She was a good girl, a strong girl. She would be ok. "Very much so. He thinks he's found...," Shit. How much to say? How much to say? "He thinks he can mask mutant DNA to the point that no detection system can pick up on it, in a given subject. He's used it on himself and a few others already. He wants me to have a look, and I think to fund him. The government has obviously done all they're prepared to do for that particular project of his."

He watched her as she processed this information. Slowly, carefully. And her face changed once again. To determined. "I see."

"Are you feeling up to a walk? Hank said you would be ok if you wanted to get up and move around, as soon as you seemed to be... back to yourself. Maybe some fresh air would feel good?" He offered, both to try and get her out of the medlab, and off the subject.

But she blanched instantly, and seemed to shrink in on herself. "I... I'd rather not leave the house. Maybe... maybe tomorrow, Warren."

He swallowed hard, and nodded. 

It was going to be ok, of course. But these things took time. It was stupid to expect it to suddenly be all back to normal, after all...

God. He just wanted it to be all back to normal.

* * *

Pietro Maximoff looked out the window and down. And saw nothing but blue.

Flying didn't bother him. It was more the being confined on an airplane for thirteen fucking hours that did. And then the eight connecting flights after that. 

Oh, and the fact that he was heading back to the middle of nowhere in the mountains of Transia, to a little town he hadn't been to in years, to parents who probably thought he was dead, with a sister who was a walking time bomb, toward a father he hated and feared. 

Fuck. This really wasn't the best day of his life. Not really.

He looked to his left, where Wanda was glancing around nervously. She did that every so often. She didn't like being confined any more than he did. For him, it was a function of his mutation. For her, it was probably a function of the fact that she'd spent the better part of her young life confined. Even if she didn't remember, he wouldn't be surprised at all if she had a natural, horrible reaction to being trapped. 

And it made him even more nervous. 

This was stupid. This was the fucking stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life. Jean-Paul should've stopped him. Jean-Paul was supposed to be his conscience, right? Ok, so he wasn't _quite _as quick as Pietro, but he was smart, dammit. Why would he let them go?

Well, really, Pietro had _wanted _him to let them go. That was the whole point of telling Jean-Paul in the first place. Jean-Paul would understand, and no one else would.

Well, ok, that was the excuse to tell Jean-Paul. Really, he'd just had to tell him. Unexplainably, he'd had to tell JP.

But still, stupid Canuck could've put up a little fight, at least.

Whatever. Enough about JP. Jesus. Obsess much?

"Stop that."

Pietro looked over, surprised at the sound of Wanda's low voice rumbling beside him. She hadn't said two words in five hours. It was making him insane. "Stop what?"

"You're tapping your foot. I'm about to hex the shit out of you, if you don't fucking stop it." Wanda was looking straight ahead, jaw clenched, hands curling into fists, then uncurling, repeatedly. 

Pietro realized, at that point, that he actually _had _been tapping his foot. _Really _fast. So he stopped. "Oh. Sorry."

He watched her for a moment longer, as the muscle in her jaw relaxed, as she blinked a few times, and her shoulders seemed to slump just a little. In complete silence. Uncomfortable silence. He didn't want silence anymore.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm trying to remember Transia."

"Oh," He breathed. That wasn't what he'd expected for some reason. And definitely wasn't what he wanted. Sure, it was inevitable, most likely. But he'd like to keep her from hexing anything on an airplane. He'd seen what she could do to the subway, he _definitely _didn't need a repeat of that on the plane. _Newsubjectnowplease! _"Aren't you obsessing over Sam?"

She looked over at him, sharply. She narrowed dark blue eyes and growled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

He tried to move a little further from her, but the plane really didn't allow for that kind of movement. So he ended up just squirming instead. "Nevermind."

And then, surprising him again, Wanda just sighed. "Maybe a little."

"Ha!" He let out, triumphantly. "Seriously, sis, I never thought I'd see the day. I'm proud of you."

"Not as much as you're obsessing over Jean-Paul, so don't even start."

He blinked. Was it obvious? "I haven't said a word about him!"

"That's how I know. We don't talk much, Pietro, but you're still my brother. Sisters know this shit."

And he blinked again. Jeanne-Marie Beaubier had once said the same thing to him, pretty much. But he'd never expected it from Wanda. She wasn't a normal sister. They'd been separated, destroyed, fucked up beyond recognition since he really would've called them true siblings. Sure, there had been a time. But those days were long gone, whether she knew it or not.

He realized, with a sudden pain that was like a punch in the gut, that she didn't. She didn't remember any of it. 

"Yeah. Yeah, that's true."

"You love him."

Pietro rolled his eyes, "What do you know about it? You hate everyone."

"I don't hate everyone."

"Except Sam."

"I don't hate you."

Pietro raised one eyebrow at her, and grinned. Well, of course, what wasn't to love. But still... "Sis, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

She grimaced, curling her upper lip. "Don't get used to it, Pietro."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

  


__________________________________

Yes, I'm a horrible person.

Ok, no. Seriously, I had a few weeks of hell there, but I'm cool now. Back in the saddle and all. Like I said, this will never be abandoned... I'm just slow sometimes. 

Couple of little projects to announce. Lately I've discovered the joys of RP (which is probably responsible for keeping me writing, even though I was having a shit time of it), thanks to one run by Crimson Obsession and Idgiebay-- it's called Homo Inferior and you can find it at greatestjournal, just search for homoinferior. Still need a few players. It's journal style, and really laid back and chill. Very cool people there (you know who you are!) Also getting one of my own started with taekwondodo. It's at EZBoard, and it's called Project Bayville. That one hasn't gotten started yet, and you can find a link to it in my profile. Complicated, in a way. But should be a blast.

That said, on to the reviews!

_crazyspaceystracey_: I dunno about Genius, but I definitely try. Really hard. So glad you're enjoying the various relationships that are floating around here.

_Shaman Dani_: JP/Pietro moments haunt my dreams. Expect more from me... eventually ;) Yay for the snarky speedster warm-fuzzies.

_Angharad_: True... I'd have to find you. Damn. Oh well, I do hope you're still digging it!

_Jacob_: I know what you mean, half the time I start reading stories, and then life kicks me in the arse, and I disappear... hell I do that when it's my _own _story, apparently. But I'm so glad you like my Scott, that means so much coming from you (because yes, I think you're a fantastic writer). And my tension. God, I love tension!

_RogueyMaximoff_: Ahhh another convert to gay!Pietro. Well, not really, but yeah, when it comes to Jean-Paul... come on, who could resist ;) I'm really glad you're enjoying it, and hope you make it this far into the story! Thank you for the kind words.

_The Rogue Witch_: The Rogue/Gambit moment was leftover from Relativity. There were a lot of unanswered questions about why he had her number, etc. Now you know. And god... god I really don't think I could make Sam cry... I think _I'd _cry writing it. ;)

_Taineyah_: Oh yeah, the boys have crossed the boyfriend line. Glad you're digging it!

_Relwarc_: I was pretty concerned about making the transition for JP and Pietro to "romance." But really, it was bound to happen. Glad it wasn't so terrible. I agree, as you can see, that more Scott and Alex time is needed. I only hope I can do it justice. God, I love those boys.

_TKD_: I love you. That is all. You are so good to me, and so goddamn supportive all the time. Guh. 3

_Caliente_: Why yes... yes I did read the Gambit series! And the Assassination Game arc rules. It's sitting on my night stand right now, oddly enough. Anyhow, yes here is the chapter you asked me fore. Short, but coming down from the shit hitting the fan last time around. Hope it's enough! And... I'm sure I'll talk to you soon!

_Namida_: Yay you like my random ass couples! I hope my long absence didn't turn you off, and that you're still enjoying them. Thank you so much.

_Akuma no Tsubasa_: I'm glad the affection over sex JP/Pietro was so well recieved. Mostly, I don't think they'd know love if it knocked them over the head and introduced itself. But still... it happens. Totally on accident. 

_The-M_: Miss you luv. Glad it's holding up to par, this story. Drop me a line next time you get some more good Tim/Kon, will you?;)

_UniversalAnimeGirl_: I am astounded that you can stil be reading even though I use so many of the things you are not commonly into, and think it's VERY open-minded of you that you continue to review. And not just review, but give insight regularly. Very, very sweet of you to compliment the Jean I wrote, and say you actually care for her. That _is _an accomplishment.

_amura_: Really, it's still getting better?! Guh... well this chapter might be a bit of a letdown, seeing as how it's a "take a breath" chapter... but still... more action to come! I do hope I don't disappoint!

_Risty_: Seriously SO glad the JP/Pietro wasn't too... trite. I mean, it was. It was meant to be in a way, meant to be a recognizable moment that any of us could experience. But... yeah. So glad it wasn't shit. And yay, the protest worked! Was hoping it didn't fall flat... REALLY hoping. Thank you so much for the encouragement.

And much love for Sue Penkivech, who is my badass beta. 3

And that's it, this time around! Back with more, hopefully faster this time ;) Love (come play with me!) -Beaubier


	10. Phobias and Flashbacks

Chapter Nine: Phobias and Flashbacks

A luxury hotel room.

Magnus felt sometimes, when he first opened his eyes, before he felt that vulgar collar rubbing at his neck, taunting him, that he had somehow taken up residence in a luxury hotel room. Of course, soon after, it always came rushing back to him. Chains with no metal and a needle in his arm. A needle he hadn't been able to stop, that hadn't been metal. They were ready for him... they'd been ready for everything he had, for every eventuality. And they'd taken him.

And he'd awakened here, in this luxury hotel room. With a collar around his neck. An "inhibitor."

At first, he'd flown into a rage. Sadly, however, rage simply wasn't the outlet it used to be when he didn't have the power to tear a room down around him any longer.

Correction. He _had _that power. He simply couldn't use it. Which was infuriating.

The whole thing was infuriating. His Acolytes were the best of the best, and he knew it. But Gambit had been incapacitated, Pyro had giggled like the fool he was, Colossus had stood and stared blankly, and Sabretooth... well, he wasn't sure what had happened to the feral. But he wouldn't be at all surprised if Victor Creed had somehow managed to get away.

Loyalty wasn't so dependable, when it was purchased. Or taken by force.

_I should have brought Wanda and Pietro. They would have been an asset, at this point..._

But it was too late to wish for that, now. He should have thought of it before, and due to his failure to plan for the eventuality that Sinister would be just as interested in him as he was in Sinister... he was caught. His children would not have turned their backs. Pietro, though something of a whiner, was well-trained and dependable. The boy never failed to answer his father's call– which was as it should be. And his need to prove himself, as most boys wish to prove themselves to their fathers, had made him into an acceptable operative. But he was too young, and too erratic, and Magnus had feared he would be a liability at this juncture in the plans. Particularly once he learned of Sinister's interest in the children– he didn't want to draw any more attention to his hideaway than he needed to by bringing the objects of Essex's interests home with him.

Wanda was simply a gamble, no matter how he looked at it. Since Mastermind had "reprogrammed" her, the girl appeared to be kindly disposed toward him... which was good. Very good, in fact. She was powerful, perhaps she would be even more powerful than he one day. He'd known it was a possibility since she'd manifested, at such a young age, with such violence. Shame that she couldn't control it– he could have used her help. And her loyalty. The girl obviously had an obsessive quality that made the achievement of her focus-of-the-moment her prime directive. Had that focus been on _helping_ him instead of _killing_ him, he might've made much larger strides in his master plan by this time. She seemed, after Apocalypse, as if she would have been willing to stay with him, for the sake of family; however, he was uncertain about bringing her in before he had set up all his plans, and wanted to secure her complete cooperation, and compliance with his creed, before showing them to her. The girl had too much will to take risks.

Far more than her brother. But she might, in fact, have inspired the same in him, as she had when they were children, so many times. He often thought that the necessity of sending Wanda away, both for the sake of everyone else's safety and for her own, was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it made certain that Pietro would cooperate with his every wish– he was always the eager-to-please half of the twins, even at such a young age. Wanda had never cared much what anyone thought of her, except her brother, perhaps. Combine the loss of her influence on him, along with the fear the boy had harbored after she was gone that if he did something wrong, he too would be sent away, and it had proven a strangely effective mode of controlling the hyperactive boy. But on the other hand, Magnus had lost his chance to secure for life, by raising her the right way, the full compliance of the girl he was certain was one of the most powerful mutants in the world– his daughter.

Either way, the two of them would not have turned on him, like most of his Acolytes. Which was key. This was blood, after all– and he knew the twins couldn't shake that bond. Even Wanda, now that she remembered nothing about the asylum, had some affection for him. And he could use that, to further the greater good. His children at his side, he could make everyone understand. Understand that mutants are the future, the natural course of human evolution. And they _would _take their place as such... they would _not _be pushed, shoved, beaten into obedience.

How anyone could find fault with this dream, he never would understand. Charles and all his protestation about innocent lives, innocent children. He understood nothing about war, despite the fact that he'd seen it himself. He never could see that individuals don't matter, when it comes to war– only the greater good. And that was how Magnus knew he would win. He would sacrifice himself, his Acolytes, his own children to the cause. Individual lives didn't matter. Only freedom mattered.

He would never be oppressed again.

At least... that was what he had thought.

For the hundredth time on this endless day, exactly like all the other endless days, he clawed at the restraining collar around his neck, grinding his teeth in irritation. Each day, he was fed at exactly the same time, and visited by his "host" at exactly the same time. The red-eyed, vampire-esque Essex. And every day, the man asked him the same question. "Will you join forces with me, or no?"

"Never," Was always his answer. He'd learned enough about this man's mutant-torture through Gambit's efforts (which the man had dared to use on the son of Magneto!), and enough about his "research" pursuits through his own research, that he wanted nothing to do with him. Other than to wipe him out of existence. Who did this Sinister think he was, after all, to tamper with the destiny of _homo superior_, let alone _his_ children? Add in the obvious ties to Apocalypse, whom Magnus had discovered had _something _to do with the origin of the man's extraordinary powers, and it was clear that the man had to die.

Therefore, if Magneto was to have any association with this man, it would be only for the purpose of killing him.

He understood the man's wish to have him join forces, however, though he did not know what sort of specific project the man needed him for. It was not unlike his situation with his own daughter not so long ago, really. Her power, and the potential for another family-loyalty, such as the one that kept Pietro his most faithful servant, despite his youth and arrogance, were tempting attributes. To have her by his side would have been ideal– but her hatred for him had kept them apart.

And now, when he was so close to completing the final steps in his plan, when all that was left to do before he could return to power was to kill this man, this Sinister...

Sinister took him.

And he, Magneto, the Master of Magnetism, was left clawing futilely at a piece of jewelry he _should _have been able to snap with a mere thought. Inhibited. Impotent.

And waiting for his chance. Because he _would _find one. And then, he would kill this man. The man who dared to try and capture his children. The man who dared to torture his son. And the man who dared to hold him captive.

Yes. Magnus would feel much better once Essex was dead. In fact, the prospect was what got him through the night.

* * *

"I'm so happy to see you getting out, Jeanne-Marie," Jean offered, softly, coming up behind the darker haired girl in the hallway. She'd been on her way to the living room, in the hope of finding something to watch... and she'd seen the slight figure of her friend, slowly making her way along the same hall.

She hadn't been avoiding her. She'd spoken to her, in fact, as soon as possible, once she'd regained coherence nearly two days ago. How could she stay away when she needed to know so badly that Jeanne-Marie would, in fact, be alright? Her entire life seemed to hinge around JM's well-being, for the past few days. So they'd spoken, briefly. Avoided all pertinent subjects.

And Jeanne-Marie's newfound paranoia quickly became evident. Jean had offered to go for a walk with her, since she looked pale and drawn, and her pale eyes now had a new, haunted sort of look to them. Sunlight, the last Jean expected they'd see before the November snowstorms began in earnest, would have been just the thing for the younger girl. But JM had refused, saying she'd rather stay inside, in her room. Jean asked around, and everyone had been getting the same story from Jeanne-Marie, apparently. Once she'd moved out of the downstairs medcot, she'd stuck to her room almost exclusively, leaving only when absolutely necessary.

Jean-Paul was with her, most of the time, though he'd gone to school today for the first time since she'd been hurt today. Warren had stayed with her the rest of the time, so that she didn't have to be alone. She didn't like being alone either. Jean had taken a watch from him, just yesterday, but the conversation had been slow, and her offer of a walk had been refused.

Jeanne-Marie, for her part, seemed normal, sometimes. Until Jean brought up going outside. And then, she would retreat. And refuse to say why she didn't want to go out. Blatantly.

"I... think I shouldn't stay in my room so much," JM offered, when Jean was beside her finally. "The Professor said it will only make things worse... and I trust him."

Jean nodded, sympathetically. God, the poor girl. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't handle this, she had a disorder to cope with. Jean should have _known _better... god she should've known! "Where are you heading?"

"I'm not sure," The younger girl offered a sheepish smile at that. And almost looked like herself again. No matter how small the smile, Jeanne-Marie always lit up when she had one on her face. She was just... naturally beautiful like that. "I just... made myself leave the room."

"Want to watch a movie with me?" Jean offered. And not just because she felt bad for the girl... she really could use the company herself. She wanted to see Jeanne-Marie laugh, for her own purposes. To alleviate the crushing guilt that had been plaguing her for days now. But she also... just wanted someone to be near her. Scott had tried... but she felt horrible, hanging on him. Particularly because not only had she never been the "needy" type before, and generally found people like that irritating and weak-willed, but because she felt horrible for sucking up so much attention from him now, when she'd avoided him completely for weeks before. She was entirely cognizant of the fact that she was being a fair-weather, or, as it were poor-weather, girlfriend. And she honestly hated herself for it. Scott had been a dear, but he obviously didn't know what to think, and she didn't want to confuse him anymore...

She didn't know what she wanted from him anymore, in fact.

But Jeanne-Marie... Jeanne-Marie she needed to spend time with. For both of their sakes.

The Canadian X-Man nodded, "Yes, let's watch something funny."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Jean nodded, with a smile that was only a little bit forced, as they turned into the rec room. She kneeled down by the DVD collection, and took a deep breath. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but she couldn't help herself... it had been two days, after all. And dammit... she needed to know. "How are you doing, then? If you're out of the room, I assume you're feeling... safer?"

"...No. But I'm feeling as if I should pretend I'm feeling safer. Which serves the same function, to get me out of my room."

Jean looked over her shoulder, and felt another stab of guilt in the pit of her stomach, as she saw Jeanne-Marie already curled up underneath a blanket, nestled into the corner of the couch, looking as if she'd become a part of it if she could. Pale and pretty and fragile. Like a scared little girl.

Instinctively, Jean wanted to go to her and hold her, like she had when the younger girl had first come to the Institute, when JM had no one and nothing and was just a frightened orphan in a new place. But she was frozen in place. Mostly by guilt. She only looked at the other girl, and shook her head. "I'm so sorry, JM."

Jeanne-Marie's eyes caught hers now, pale and blue and surprised. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Jean. It's not your fault that I'm... the way I am."

Jean winced, and sucked in a breath, painfully. As if she'd been punched.

Certainly felt like it. Right in the stomach.

"It is my fault. I shouldn't have made you go to that rally."

JM blinked at her, obviously confused, for just a moment. And then said, "You didn't twist my arm, _ma amie_. I agreed that it was a good idea. It's not your fault that I... attacked that boy. I could have hurt him..."

"He hurt _you_," Jean hissed, a lot more venomously than she'd meant to.

"He hurt you too," came the quiet reply.

Jean looked away, at that. Yes, he had hurt her. But she could have withstood the accusations, the glaring, the shouting, the hate. She'd wanted to turn it around. And instead, she'd ended up... like this. It wasn't Jeanne-Marie's fault, she knew that. The girl couldn't help what had happened to her, what Jean had _felt_ happen to her, in her head. "It's not your fault, what happened," She managed to say, now flipping through the DVD collection, without really seeing the covers at all as she did so. She was just staring.

"... Maybe," Came the reluctant answer. "But it's not yours, either way."

It was. But Jean didn't want to argue. She just wanted things... to be right again. She'd alienated her friends, her boyfriend, she'd gotten stuck on a boy who was stuck on her friend, she'd tried to throw herself into cause after cause... she'd lost the plot. It was time to get it back. Go from where she was. And make no more mistakes, if she could help it.

"How about _Old School_?" She offered, pulling out the DVD. "Scott said he and JP thought it was hilarious."

"Sounds good to me," Was Jeanne-Marie's quiet reply.

Jean put the movie in, and moved to the couch, to sit next to her friend, trying to just concentrate on the here and now. Trying to forget how mean she'd been to this girl for the past week, due to stupid jealousy, thoughtlessness. The girl who'd been her roommate for months, the girl who'd been a good friend to her, always. Who'd never let her down.

"Are you cold? You can share with me," she heard, next to her.

She looked over, surprised, to see Jeanne-Marie offering part of her blanket to her, dark eyebrows arching elegantly in a questioning sort of look.

And she smiled, genuinely, accepting and scooting closer as they arranged the cover around themselves. They used to do this all the time, sit on the couch and watch movies, during the summer. Any time it rained or stormed. And the air conditioner would be on, so they'd get cold, and burrow under a blanket and laugh...

She leaned against JM's arm, and felt the other girl leaning back, warm and comfortable, as she hit play on the remote. And hoped this was a start.

* * *

Alex had an odd habit, Scott noticed, of trying to look like he wasn't depressed, and being very bad at it. He'd plaster some kind of goofy grin on his face for about ten minutes, until he simply couldn't anymore, and then his boyish face would simply fall, all at once. Heart on his sleeve, this kid. Or, at least, in his eyes.

It was kind of refreshing, really. Alex was like that though. He didn't spend nearly as much time with him as he'd meant to, when Alex told him he'd be coming to the Institute for good. He'd planned on them doing this, sitting at a pizza joint drinking cokes and eating until they were totally stuffed, a few times a week, at least. Or getting coffee, or hanging out somewhere, doing something. But things had been so crazy, really, for the past few months...

Oh hell, who was he kidding, things were _always _crazy around the Institute. But he couldn't help but wish he'd found more time for this, in the past, or making a silent vow to do so in the future. Now that things were... open between them... Alex was probably the one person in his life he would _always _welcome at his door. No matter what.

"So," The surfer-kid asked, over a huge slice of anchovy-pineapple pizza (a delicacy he'd _insisted _Scott at least give a try.) "What's the deal with this Pyro guy?"

Scott raised an eyebrow at his brother behind his ruby glasses. Now how the hell did he know that Pyro was awake– the kid hadn't even been home yet! "How did you–?"

"Don't ask questions," Alex held up one finger, solemnly, as if he were some Roman orator. "I have my sources. So, what's his deal?"

Grinning, Scott just shook his head. He probably didn't _want _to know what Alex's sources were, anyhow. He worried about the kid enough. "Hank says he sat up, looked around, and said, _You got a lighter, mate_?"

Alex started to laugh, but encountered difficulty, since his mouth was full of Coke. Cheeks puffed out, dark eyes bulging comically as he tried to restrain the laughter building up in him, little brother finally managed to swallow and cackled, "Oh god, so it's _true _what they say about him?"

Scott only raised on eyebrow, "The name is accurate, I'd say."

"He gonna like... stick with the X-Men?"

Jesus. That's all they needed. First the thief, then the arsonist. But he held his tongue on the subject, and just shrugged, "No idea, bro. I didn't talk to him, he was in with the Professor and Gambit when I left."

"What about Gambit anyhow?"

Ugh. Involuntarily, Scott made a face that he figured probably said it all. A very unpleasant face, he could tell, just from the feeling of it. "He's... dodgy."

Alex nodded, enthusiastically. "Yeah but he seems kinda cool. He showed me how to pick a lock yesterday."

"God, Alex," Scott shook his head, with something of a defeated grin, "Don't... don't tell me that."

Alex grinned back, "Sure thing, Fearless Leader."

"God, you too huh? Remind me to get JP back for that one. When he's not broken anymore."

They chatted a bit about that, about Alex's little ice-cream session with their mutual friend, and Scott felt rather guilty that he didn't have anything to contribute. He hadn't been able to get more than five minutes of company out of the younger boy, no matter how he'd tried, for the past few days. It was almost as if Jean-Paul was avoiding him.

No, not him. Everyone.

But he'd asked the kid to go out with him for a reason, he remembered, when the grin slipped out of place on Alex's features for a second, during the conversation. And he decided to dive right in and ask him about it. "Ok, so I might be angsting, kid, but I can definitely tell that something's up with you. So you gonna spill?"

Alex rolled his eyes heavenward, in a rather obvious attempt to write his issues off. "Oh dude, it's retarded compared to what's going on at the Institute right now–,"

But Scott wasn't having it. He'd spent enough time being a bad brother, and he was going to get Alex to talk if he had to pry the information out of him with a crowbar. He could see it, in his brother's eyes. You could always tell by Alex's eyes. They looked like they were trying to avoid his, now that the subject had been breached. Definitely something up. "C'mon, man. Even if they're not the end of the world, they're still your problems, right? That's important to me."

The younger boy seemed to consider, as he chewed thoughtfully, one cheek puffed out comically, stuffed full of pizza. When he swallowed, he said, "Yeah I guess so. Ok, deal time."

"Hit me," Scott said. A deal was fair, if it got the kid to spill.

"I tell you what's bothering me, you tell me about Rogue?"

Scott nearly choked on his Coke. He'd expected that Alex would want to know, but he hadn't expected him to be so... forward about it. Maybe because he'd kind of been skirting the issue in his mind, himself... pretending it didn't exist.

When really, it had been driving him mad. It was kinda hard now, when he saw Rogue– and he saw her all the time, of course– not to think about it. About how stupid he'd been, not to see it. And he couldn't help but wonder if she still... well, she didn't obviously, but man... "It's nothing," He shook his head, muttering more to himself than to his companion.

Alex shrugged, still grinning. "No deal. How's that pizza?"

Scott grimaced at the "no deal" part of the reply. But the pizza bit actually made it turn into something of a grin. "Surprisingly good, actually." And he took another bite of the strange concoction, just to prove his point. It really _was _good, even though every fiber in his being told him it shouldn't be good at all... but then, Alex was good for making him go against his own, admittedly rigid, status quo. "Ok fine," He finally gave in, after chewing his food. "But you talk first. I'm the shitty brother, let me do this for once."

"Alright, alright," the younger boy rolled his eyes. Once he'd taken a drink of his Coke, he took a deep breath, and looked his brother in the eye. Obviously steeling himself for something big. "So, I think Ray is like... weirded out by me."

"But I thought he was really cool about it," Scott cocked his head, curious. When last he'd talked to Alex about who he'd discussed his recent... issues with, the list had been short– JP, Ray, and him. And everyone on it was someone who understood, or was important to the kid somehow. Friend, roommate, brother. Alex had even said that Ray had acted like it was completely normal.

"He was," Alex shrugged, putting his pizza down and suddenly looking very forlorn. "He is... I don't even know man. See... I kinda...," Scott could see the younger boy swallowing convulsively now, watched him shift his weight in his chair, as if uncomfortable. Whatever it was, it was going to be important.... "I kinda... well, I didn't tell you this before, but I... I have... I _really _like Ray."

Scott furrowed his brow for a moment, "You...," And then it hit him. "Oh! Oh, you _like _Ray." Well, that made sense... for a minute, he experienced a serious bout of sympathy angst for his kid brother, in fact. It had been bad enough when he'd wanted Jean so badly and she was only in the same house. If she had been in the same _room_... wow. Lots of time in the showers.

Alex nodded, looking slightly guilty, his eyes falling to his discarded slice of pizza now. "I mean, I know it's not gonna happen but...." He looked up then, suddenly, and his smooth brow furrowed. Scott was amazed, momentarily, at the similarity of his expression to the one he saw when he looked in the mirror and did the same thing. _Guess some things can't be denied._ "Dude, is this weird?"

"No, honestly," He answered, without even having to think. He really was over his short moment of weakness, when it came to Alex being gay, and had been prepared for the eventuality of a crush or boyfriend for some time now, happily. Since their last talk, really. Though he was still embarrassed about his initial reaction, and the avoidance that had followed... he truly was ok with everything, now. This was his brother, his favorite person in the world. Not a chance he'd let something stupid come between them like that again. "The pizza is weirder."

That, at least, got a smile from the surfer-boy. "Ok. So... I'm afraid he like... found out or something."

"Hm...," Scott considered the dilemma, and found he was actually _enjoying _worrying about a problem like this one. Not that it wasn't important– it definitely was. But it didn't hold thousands of lives in the balance, and it didn't require him to hurt anyone else, and... yeah. Alex was definitely good medicine, even when he had minor drama. "Well, that doesn't seem like his style man," he confessed. He didn't know Ray that well, just knew that he had a little bit of a wild streak, a wicked sense of humor, and tended to get into fights with Roberto. Over anything. But he was a punk, and extremely liberal, from what he'd heard and seen. Not likely to judge anyone else by a certain set of social standards... maybe even _more _likely to embrace people for being different, whether he realized it or not. "It's Ray, and he's pretty... blunt. I'm thinking he'd just tell you. You think someone told him?"

"Na," Alex shook his head, "Only JP knows, and he wouldn't."

"Not a chance," he agreed, wholeheartedly.

Alex chewed at his lip for a minute, then took a rather quick sip of his Coke, his movements jerky and nervous. "I'm afraid I like... did something weird. Looked at him funny or something."

Arching an eyebrow in disbelief, Scott gave his brother a sideways look. "He's pretty open-minded, man. At least, from what I've seen. You probably know him better but... I don't think so. Maybe you should say something to him..."

Alex's dark eyes went wide, and he froze, pizza halfway to his mouth. "Dude..."

Ok, so no on that idea. It obviously terrified surfer-kid, even thinking about confessing. Which was understandable, but if Ray had been so cool with the idea of a gay roommate, maybe he could at least help Alex feel more comfortable or... "Or not."

"No way," Alex was shaking his head now, emphatically, bangs falling into his eyes, unheeded. "He's my _roommate_. I'm like... betraying the Sacred Code of the Locker and Dorm Room every time I think about... it."

Again, Scott cocked an eyebrow. _Note to self– turn off mental imager when discussing Alex's guy problems_. "Ok, so _that _was a little weird," He grinned across the table.

To his great relief, Alex's shoulders relaxed, and he grinned right back, then stuffed the previously frozen-in-midair pizza into his mouth.

"And I still think you should say something," Scott continued, considering what he knew about Ray Crisp's life before the Institute. It wasn't much– the kid was something of a mystery, but what he did know... "He's probably just stressed, or thinking. He has... kind of a screwed up story. Maybe he needs to talk to someone. Who does he talk to, around here?"

Yes, he was officially encouraging his brother to do the typical thing– find the girl you like when she's at an emotionally vulnerable point in her life, support her through the hard times, and make her yours. Only this time... it was a little different.

But hell, he figured all guys liked that trick, not just the straight ones. And Alex wouldn't exploit it...

Ok yeah. It was still a little weird, maybe. But not necessarily _bad_. Just... different.

"So," Alex considered, through a mouthful of pizza, "You're saying I'm paranoid?"

Scott shrugged. Only one way to know, "Talk to him."

"Dude," Alex shook his head, swallowing and halfway laughing again. Obviously not a consideration, that whole "talk to him" thing. But hell, that's what JP and Rogue had said when he'd asked them about Jean– "So Rogue," kid brother interrupted again, "What the hell was that about, man?"

"Gah," He let out a sound of frustration, and dragged a hand through his hair. And he'd been doing so well thinking about Alex's love issues there for a moment... "I don't know."

Alex gave him a look that very clearly said _oh come off it_.

So he sighed, and decided it might really be a good idea to get this off his chest. Two days now, and he could find no peace from it, despite the disaster brewing around the X-Men at the moment, what with Warren not getting his clearance from ExGen, and Jeanne-Marie being injured, and Magneto's entire family coming up missing...

And it was probably a bad sign that he couldn't stop thinking about Rogue, despite all that other stuff. So he started talking. "She said she used to have a crush on me, last year. Well, ok, she said a lot of other really important things, too, that's not all we talked about. Most of those things were about Remy, who she may or may not have a crush on now. But... but yeah. That's the thing I can't get over, you know?"

A slow, knowing smile spread across the younger boy's face, and he lowered his voice to a singsong sort of taunt, "Awwwww, you _like _her!"

If it had been anyone else, Scott would have pursed his lips, crossed his arms over his chest, and denied it until the end of time. Even if he... well, it wasn't that it was true. He just... didn't know.

But it was Alex. Goofy, hilarious, sunshine-boy Alex. And his smile was infectious, apparently, because Scott had very little luck fighting one of his own. "I _have _a girlfriend," He argued, nevertheless.

"Dude!" Alex leaned back and pointed at him, grinning wickedly. "You totally didn't deny it at all!"

Scott covered his face with one hand, trying to wrestle the smile down again. "It doesn't matter anyhow, it was a long time ago.

"Scott," Alex leaned forward again, planting his elbows firmly on the table and gesturing emphatically with both hands. "Listen to me. Five years ago is kind of a long time ago. Last year was like... yesterday. She was wearing your sweater!"

"She gave me that sweater," He mused, remembering what a complete idiot he'd been that Christmas. Fretting over Jean being gone, alone with Rogue, shopping, looking for Warren...

"Dude," Alex almost choked, for the second time that night, on his Coke. "That's like... hella cute. You guys are so gonna get married."

But now, Scott's former levity suddenly left him. This hadn't been the plan. Jean. Jean was the plan. The perfect girl for him, she complimented his every quality. When he was too serious, she lightened him up. When he was too stubborn, she showed him how to give. When they needed anything, _anything_, the other was always there.... "Alex... Jean."

Alex eyed him critically for a moment, steepling his hands over his forgotten pizza. "Are you or are you not totally over that. Because I thought–,"

Ouch. World's Biggest Jerk, once again. He should just get it tattooed on his forehead. "She's a little fucked up right now," He cut in, giving his brother what he hoped was a meaningful look, so he wouldn't have to come right out and explain...

That he was still with Jean only because he was afraid she couldn't handle a breakup right now.

God. God, what a dick.

Alex nodded, thankfully understanding, but said, "Yeah well she can join the club. It's cool that you think of her first, that's what friends should do. But... Eventually," His voice got quiet now, and one corner of his mouth turned up in a sad sort of half-smile, "You gotta do it. It's not fair to either of you to pretend. And believe me, bro. I know all about pretending. Don't torture yourself, dude."

Scott gave his own half-smile, and wondered how similar to Alex's it appeared. He knew the kid was right– those were some serious words of wisdom. But..., "I'm so good at it, is the thing, Alex."

"Must be genetic."

* * *

"No."

Jeanne-Marie stood on the other side of her room, arms crossed over her chest, staring him down. "Listen to me Jean-P–,"

"No," He said again, emphatically. It was ridiculous. It was preposterous. It gave him a _very _bad feeling. "I'm telling you, _ma soeur_, no. Not a chance, not in hell, not in heaven, not happening, _non_."

For a moment, her eyes flashed. And then her arms fell to her side, and she sighed, "Why are you being difficult?"

What explanation should he give her for why this was wrong? This procedure she wanted to undergo, that she'd convinced Warren to take her to Ottawa for– she couldn't even leave the _house_, how the _fuck _did she expect to get to Ottawa?– it was simply wrong. He could feel it. "Some things...," He attempted to explain, "Some things shouldn't be tampered with."

"Superstition–,"

"_Respect_," He corrected her, instantly. "Respect for who and what you are. You shouldn't be ashamed–,"

"I'm not ashamed!" she exclaimed, eyes flashing with anger at the implication.

He could barely feel her, at the edge of his mind. She'd held herself back, once she'd recovered completely. Or as completely as possible, he supposed. And before then, he'd had to shut her out, to keep out her overwhelming confusion and sadness, while she cried. She was being completely illogical now, and he reached out for her again, mentally... and found that she would give no more. Surely she could feel him there... But no. Not a sign. Nothing to explain how or why this idea had taken such a hold on her. "Then _why, _sister? Why would you want to do this if not from shame?"

She looked away now, crossing her arms protectively over her chest, looking very young suddenly. "... Then maybe there is some shame... but it's not what you think."

He crossed the room now, to stand in front of her. This was simply ridiculous, and he was not going to listen to it anymore. If she was going to insist... she was going to tell him why. He reached down, put one hand under her chin, and lifted it, so that she had to either meet his eyes, or stare at his chest. And he knew very well she was too proud not to meet his eyes. "_Tell me_, Jeanne-Marie."

She met his eyes immediately, defiantly. And clenched her jaw. "I'm eighteen years old. I'm not a ward of the State anymore, no one controls me. I'm going to Ottawa to see Dr. Langkowski about his procedure."

For a moment, he simply looked at her. He felt his own jaw clench, in what he knew must be a startlingly similar expression to the one she wore at that very moment. Felt his eyes narrow, as they held hers fearlessly. Stubbornly.

And remembered, suddenly, how it had felt to lose her for even a week. When she hadn't spoken to him. Wouldn't see him, wouldn't touch him.

Fuck.

He let his hand fall from her face, back to his side. Suppressed a violent urge to hug her, suddenly, and not let go. God. God he was breaking and he knew it. And he needed to touch someone he knew.

He couldn't explain it... but he'd been feeling it, and badly, since... fuck. Since Pietro had gone. He'd gotten used to it, though, with the other boy. And he was used to it with his sister too, even if in an entirely different fashion. But he couldn't articulate it, this unfamiliar need. Too much worry, too much fear, had burned his brain out almost entirely.

He just needed... to feel it.

And actually, at that moment, at this point in the hopelessly fucked up existence of Jean-Paul Beaubier... hers was the exact kind of touch he needed. Nothing wanting or demanding about it. Just comforting and warm and... god. How had he lived without her so long?

He reached out again, this time taking her hands. Small, think hands, a little too cold. Like a doll's. But they felt good, to him. "Jeanne-Marie," He began, this time carefully. "_Please_. Help me to understand. I'm worried about you, and I don't want Worthington convincing you of something you're not fully prepared to deal with. This is your _genetic _make-up. It's _who _you are... who _we _are. Don't let him–,"

"He doesn't want me to either."

Jean-Paul blinked at his sister for a moment. That was... unexpected. "I'd thought..."

"Non," she shook her head, bit her lip momentarily. "He told me about the project before. I was the one who suggested it for me. He begged me to reconsider."

Hm. Perhaps the winged wonder could live, after all. "And why do you refuse us?"

Now, she looked away. And he felt her open up, just a little. Felt his stomach flip with the first shock of her panic as it hit him. "_Mon frere..._ life has moved on... and I can't. I'm scared... very scared."

He swallowed hard, trying to keep her– now painfully obvious– fear from becoming his own. Black undertow. And she was alone in it. It kept pulling her feet out from under her until she stumbled back to standing... and every time it was getting harder...alone black fast hard scared pain stomach dark...

Jean-Paul pulled his sister closer to him, and wrapped his arms around her small waist, holding her close. Small, but so strong. Her shaking could as easily be her panic as it could be the vibration of power running through her. She let her head come to rest on his shoulder so that her hair, wild and soft and dark, was against his cheek. He smoothed it gently, reaching up, underneath her arms as she snaked them around his neck. Latched on to him. Almost like a child, not quite like a lover. _Dieu_... just the thing he needed. He closed his eyes against the fear. He had to be stronger than her. His lonely was nothing, compared to her panic, the disorder in her mind. He turned his head into her, like a cat, nuzzling at her hair.

"I'm ashamed of the fear, Jean-Paul. I don't want to be afraid."

Fuck.

Deep breath. Running his hands over her back, hoping to calm her. Like a baby. Like his sister. "It will go away, with time."

"It won't. I'm fighting it... I hate her, Jean-Paul..."

A flash, and there was only white behind his eyes as her undertow caught him. White flash, fade to black, a tug at his mind, his sanity, that nearly collapsed him into her.

Slowly, painfully, he shut her out. Careful. So careful. The vertigo slid away, but it left a strange film on his mind. He could feel it there, oily and vague and... wrong.

And his shoulder was wet from her, suddenly.

No. He couldn't let it happen. Everything in him shouted to _make _her stay, to tell her no...

But god... he wasn't sure who he was talking to anymore. Whoever she was, though... she hated herself. Part of herself. One of herselves. The fragmenting was getting worse, as she panicked. And he would do anything... _anything_ to stop it. To save her.

"Anything you want, Jeanne-Marie. Anything at all."

She had finally gone to sleep.

And Jean-Paul was still reeling.

He could feel it still clinging to him, the thin film she'd left on his reality. Her fear. Her fragmented mind.

He'd never heard her do that before– make reference to one of her "others." He'd been too overwhelmed at the time to realize it then, but she must have been referring to the fragile Jeanne-Marie, when she said, "I hate her." Who else could it be? Did his sister want to do away with her softer side altogether? Did she want to be the violent Aurora always? Or did she hate _her _as well?

_Dieu_. He wished he could sleep like her. And forget.

But he had an Angel to find.

And find him he did, in the library. Staring at a book. Obviously not reading. And completely lost in his own thoughts.

Jean-Paul wasn't sure about him. He wanted to write him off as a rich playboy, as an irresponsible billionaire spoiled brat. And he was, in a way.

But in a million other ways, he wasn't. Jean-Paul might have been able to ignore those things, a few days ago. Might have been able to focus on his unconscious pretension, his irritatingly beautiful appearance, his obviously hungry eyes, when they fell on Jeanne-Marie. But now... he couldn't ignore them.

Jeanne-Marie _appeared _to be right about Warren Worthington. And he was in love with her. Madly. The most overprotective brother in the world could not have ignored it. Not after this week. No matter how much he wanted to.

So Jean-Paul sat beside the older boy, sunk into one of the fantastically comfortable loungers. Felt his body relaxing, for the first time all day. God. He hadn't even known he'd been so tense...

Warren looked up, as he settled in. The hawk-eyed look of a businessman, who feared he'd have to guard his interest with his life.

But the speedster simply hadn't the energy for the game. Not tonight. "Thank you," he said, quite simply. "You have been there when she needed you, even though you hardly know her. Most men would have disappeared a few days ago. You don't owe us anything... you don't owe her anything. But you stayed."

Warren's blue eyes softened, at that, visibly releasing any intention to fight, or rather, to defend, that he may have had. "I love your sister."

When he said it, he looked down, suddenly. But there was no flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. He just looked... thoughtful. His wings ruffled, just slightly, and Jean-Paul raked his eyes over them.

Angel. How absolutely fucking appropriate.

"I know," The darker boy admitted, after a long moment. "And if she didn't love you, she wouldn't have recognized you like she did, after... it happened."

Blue eyes raised to meet his again, and a wry smile spread slowly across his heroic features. "They told me you wouldn't like it."

Jean-Paul snorted at that, derisively. "I'm protective, not jealous. You treat her well, I treat you well. It's not fucking rocket science."

Warren's smile broadened, but stayed just a bit sad. "Yes. So I see."

That business taken care of, the Canadian sighed and rubbed at his temples with both hands, still trying to rid himself of his sister's darkness, of her sickness. And failing miserably. "I don't like this, Worthington."

"Neither do I," The blonde boy? admitted, voice low and somewhat gravelly. "I trust the man, Dr. Langkowski, for some reason–"

"But not with her," Jean-Paul finished. Obviously, not with her. "I _hate _this, in fact. It feels wrong."

"What can we do?" Warren sighed, and Jean-Paul heard his wings ruffle again.

There was the problem, really. Warren was as powerless against her tears as he, obviously– and he hadn't the faintest clue of the darkness inside her. If he did, he'd undoubtedly be even _more _disinclined to talk sense into Jeanne-Marie.

He rubbed at his temples a little harder, and leaned his elbows on his thighs, bent over himself. So. Tired. Suddenly. "Nothing," He said, finally. "Take care of her. If anything happens to her, I'll have to kill you."

A slight chuckle, somehow not irritating or smug in the least. "I know, Jean-Paul. But you'd have to beat me to it."

"Or her," He half-growled. And he didn't mean _my sister_. He, very specifically, meant _Aurora_.

"Or her," Came the agreement.

First official conversation with sister's boyfriend taken care of, Jean-Paul stood, slowly, and turned to look at him one last time. Beautiful golden angel. Wings twitched, slightly, feather sounds light and impossibly... human. And he couldn't help but hope, against every pessimistic instinct in his body, that this man was half the angel he looked to be.

* * *

Well, this sure as shit wasn't how John had expected things to end up.

Right, recap. So not that long ago, he was jobless and happy, writing his books, watching Mags get squashed repeatedly in glorious living color. Which was a real fucking trip. Not much longer after that, still jobless and happy, he was watching a live feed of the X-Men kicking A-poc's ass. Which was a bit of a laugh, really. Next thing he knew, however, Mags was back and being all secretive once again, with a serious hard-on for some Sinister fellow. Which was a bit of a drag, admittedly. But not like he'd had fuck all else to do, at the time. Writers block was a real bitch. But then, the kicker. The best fucking thing he'd ever seen. Magneto got his ass kicked once again, but this time, he was taken _alive_.

Must've really burned old Chrome Dome, that.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been conscious enough to truly enjoy it.

But the biggest laugh of all was waking up in the Xavier Institute, days later, with a big fucking lump on the head. That was quite possibly the funniest shit he'd ever seen in his entire life, really. In a "Holy hell, what the fuck" kind of way.

St. John Allerdyce leaned back in the cushy seat he presently occupied in the conference room, and took stock of his company, grinning with the unabashed giddiness of a five-year-old. Shades and his hot red-head girlie. The blue fuzzy kid and the valley girl. The goth girl, the Frenchie-fairy, and the pretty angel. The hairy feral and the bald man.

And, of course, Remy.

He'd been surprised to see his former comrade, really. The Cajun had fucked off as soon as Mags had "died," just like the tin-man had, last time. Pyro normally wouldn't have cared too much about the whys and wherefores of Gambit's presence here now, if not for the book. His newest romantic hero was based on the thief, after all. So he'd have to remember to ask.

Particularly considering the way said romantic hero prototype kept checking out goth girl. Definitely a story there.

And then, there was the ice-boy. Who was squirming in his seat, right next to John. Who had to try very, _very _hard not to laugh at him. The kid had been twitching ever since the pyrokinetic had greeted him with a smiled and a cheerful, "My fire melts your ice!" In fact, he'd been almost certain that the X-Man's knees were going to buckle, the moment he'd uttered the greeting.

Christ. Just trying to make friendly conversation. Some people, honestly.

Tee hee.

Shame they wouldn't give him a lighter, really. The kid might loosen up a little if John got a chance to show him just how lovely fire could be once again. Especially fire in the form of a nice big dragon.

Yes. Just the thing to relax the little ice cube.

Or melt him. John figured that he owed the kid one for icing up his shooters in London, after all.

Tee hee.

"Gambit," Baldy suddenly cut into his joyful fire-thoughts. "Please explain to everyone the plan we discussed."

John raised an eyebrow (how he still had eyebrows he wasn't sure. Lucky thing his hair grew fast, really) and kept grinning, as he watched Shades clench his jaw at that. Just like Remy, to wrap the X-Men around his little finger in less than a week. Charming fuck that he was.

He'd have to put that in the book. Romantic hero wraps enemy faction around his little finger. Priceless.

"Fact is," the Cajun leaned forward, and looked each of the X-Men dead in the eye with that glowing red gaze as he spoke. John took mental notes. Eye contact. Sexy accent. Very nice for romantic hero. "Monsieur Ange's plan for infiltration ain't goin' exactly as planned." Pretty angel's wings ruffled at that. John grinned even wider. The angel was fun to play with. Angels made nice fire-things. "I'm thinking we gonna need a more direct approach, if we need... confirmation of the fact that Sinister's involved in this company before we allowed to go put a stop to it."

"Which we do," Shades interjected, rather tersely.

Note to self: Enemy faction-leader should have a nice big stick up his arse.

Right.

"Oui," Gambit smiled, ingratiatingly.

Ooooh, the ingratiating smile. Had to remember that one too.

"I remember, mon ami. Which is why we need to take matters into our own hands, and get into their mainframe ourselves for the information we need."

This time, both of Pyro's blonde eyebrows shot up. Oooh and a daring plan. He was used to Remy LeBeau _taking _orders... or at least pretending to. This was very nice. And _useful_. For the book.

Yes, maybe he'd feign interest in this whole X-Men looking for Magneto thing. Just for the chance to watch Gambit in his new environs. He was much more romantic-hero here than back at the hide-out! What a lovely surprise.

"And how, exactly," Pretty angel apparently needed to know, "Are we going to accomplish this?"

But this time, it was hot red-head who spoke up. Slowly. "... Actually, Warren... you and I managed to access classified ExGen information after some fumbling around from Kitty... if we managed to get some new equipment, specialized for this job, and if we had a focused search..."

John liked red-heads. A lot.

"And I think I know just the guy to give us the upgrades we need," Valley girl was obviously trying not to bounce in her seat, the prospect of hacking clearly having made her quite happy in the pants.

"Forge!" fuzzy blue kid suddenly exclaimed, with a giant, fanged grin.

"Precisely," Baldy nodded, solemnly.

John was so lost at this point, he didn't give a fuck who they were on about. But Baldy would make an interesting character too, really. Kinda Captain-Picardy-know-it-all-bald-man-ish.

"Let me make sure I understand," Frenchie suddenly spoke up, looking an awful lot like _he'd _been the one out cold for a few days, and someone had suddenly snapped him out of it. In the rudest way possible. "We call this Forge... Kitty and he hack into ExGen and find out about Sinister... and then what?"

"Remy gon help the petite," Gambit corrected him.

Hm. The whole referring to himself in third person thing might have to go. Kinda made John feel a little cringy inside, really.

"Help with _what_?" Valley girl had her nose wrinkled up, ponytail swinging in indignation.

"Think all being a thief is, is breaking into houses?" Remy raised an eyebrow at her. Nice look. Very sex. Gotta use that one. "Oh non, ma chere."

Valley girl and goth girl snorted at that. Simultaneously.

John couldn't help it. He had to cackle at that.

Ice-boy twitched again. And scooted his chair a little further away.

Tee hee.

"And after we break into their mainframe," Remy ignored the ignominious snorting and cackling with his usual ease, "Then we have both the proof of Sinister's involvement that we need, and the means, in the form of schematics, maps, and the like, to take him out before he know what hit him."

"So the need for a frontal assault is eliminated almost entirely," hot red-head mused.

Pretty angel shook his head. "There's not much else we _can _do, if they're not going to clear me. We need that information."

"Remy's Plan B works for me," Goth girl shrugged.

The Cajun practically consumed her with his eyes, for a moment.

John very nearly had to cackle again.

"What about you, Pyro," The feral suddenly growled in his direction, quite surprising him out of his little spectator sport. "We know you ain't got a lot of love for Magneto, but if you have enough loyalty in ya to want to help... you can come."

John blinked.

Then grinned.

"If it means you'll give me my fire back, I'll bloody well follow you to Siberia, mate." _And keep tabs on my romantic hero, thanks very much. I got fuck all else to do!_

"Christ," The popsicle muttered beside him.

John cackled, happily, and moved his chair a little closer to the younger boy's.

Look! He'd made a new friend!

Tee hee.

* * *

Wanda was beginning to remember.

For a very long time, Transia had been a vague remembrance– before the hugeness of an American city, the confines of her father's house. A watercolor wash of singing and campfires, dancing and storytelling, twenty brothers and sisters, twenty mothers and fathers, laughing and crying and fighting all the time. Colors on paper that were faded echoes of something she'd forgotten how to feel a long time ago. Marya and Django. Wanda and Pietro. Things she never thought would end, when she was six years old.

They hadn't spoken too much, on the small propeller plane from Latveria. Wanda, for her part, had been trying to remember. Who knew what Pietro was ever thinking, but judging from the sour look on his sharp features, it was less than pleasant, whatever it was. Her limited success at remembrance, though littered with the colorful, emotional connections that seemed absent from the rest of her life, had left her with a familiar, bitter taste in her mouth.

Until, that is, she stepped out onto the metal stairs, and got her first look in over ten years at Transia. And stopped breathing entirely.

The tarmac and surrounding airfield were really rather pitiful, and of little concern to her. But not a mile away, in a stunning postcard-like panorama, rose the Carpathian mountains– in tones of brown near the base of the nearest, rising into purple, and finally white caps. The sky at this altitude was a fantastic shade of blue, dark but vivid– a color she'd never imagined could exist in nature. And the space itself was so... clear. So heavy with silence it almost felt sacred. Like she'd stepped into a church... and actually gave a fuck.

Home.

Pietro's hand on the small of her back had brought her back into the present again, and she'd started down onto the tarmac. But she couldn't' shake the feeling that she'd just had the wind knocked out of her. The colors were brighter– the grass, the red brick of the building, the blue in her brother's eyes. The objects were clearer, more solid, as if everything for the past ten years had been completely out of focus– a dream that had nothing to do with the actuality of Wanda Maximoff. The vague, translucent quality of her memories was lost, when she thought of Transia now. They were, without question, the fragmented memories of a child... but they made her _feel_. Like no memories of America ever could, ever had– aside from the spare few she'd collected in the past few months.

She'd loved her life here. She'd been a _happy _child.

She didn't know this house. Small, with the kind of coziness, the wooden-beam facade that reminded her of a gingerbread house, for some inane reason. It looked lived in, but Pietro had let it slip that the Maximoffs had only lived there for five years or so.

How he knew that, he wouldn't say. And the more she asked, the quieter he had gotten.

Luckily for him, they'd arrived shortly after he'd let that bit of information out. And the feelings had started to rush back once again, which was more than enough for her to try and deal with. She filed her questions away for later– though her suspicion lingered heavily– the moment she saw the woman outside the front door, watering her flowers.

Bright blue and purple flowers, small, growing in bunches. Pillows of color against the nondescript brown of the house.

The woman was thin, but strong, and sun-brown. Long chestnut hair streaked with silver, pulled into an elegant braid that trailed down her back. She wore a simple outfit, a short-sleeved blouse and a long skirt, in shades of blue and white– a contrast against her dark features. She reached upward, made a visor of her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and the elegance of the movement made her, to Wanda's eyes, seem very like a queen.

Like a mother.

Her throat felt tight, and her hand froze on the handle. She'd meant to open the door of the dilapidated cab they'd conned into driving them all the way out here (Wanda had offered to hex the reluctant driver into submission, but Pietro had– rather to her surprise– suggested that they simply pay the fare two ways, using the last of their money.) But, seeing this woman's mannerisms, the vague, first impression of the hauntingly familiar features under the shadow of her hand...

God. She remembered. Her heart stopped beating, where it sat in her throat, just for a moment as the tsunami hit her. Pulled her under in a wash of bright color and emotion. Felt like she was laughing and crying at the same time. But she hadn't made a move. Hadn't said a word.

The door swung open, and Wanda raised her eyes to see her brother standing over her, looking down over the door. "C'mon Wanda," He reached for her hand. "It's Marya."

"I know," she muttered. But she took the hand offered to her, and stood. Pietro closed the door behind her, said something to the cab driver in his tripping Romani. She could hardly understand, he spoke it with such ease, compared to her broken attempts at their native tongue. And the car pulled away.

Wanda barely noticed, because the woman was coming toward them now, with the long, elegant strides of a dancer. Tears wetting brown cheeks, despite the smile on her lips. ::Pietro... you are back! And oh... oh... this beautiful woman... can she be...?::

She'd reached them by now, and Wanda found herself pulled into a hug with one arm, facing Pietro, who occupied the other. She looked at his face, pale and somehow... relaxed. Saw him close his eyes and lean into the smaller woman.

He looked so young, suddenly.

::It's Wanda, Marya...,:: he whispered, his voice strangely frail. And when had he ever called her Marya? Wanda only knew this woman as...

Mother.

The woman turned her pretty face, a face much younger than the wise, dark eyes in it, to Pietro, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. She had to tilt her head up, to reach him, and Pietro had to look down. He kissed her back, and opened his eyes.

Wanda swallowed hard. Tried to swallow her heart, which still refused to be dislodged from her throat. As her brother and her... mother turned their eyes to her, simultaneously.

She couldn't breathe. Something was sitting on her chest, it seemed. Oh god... what was wrong with her? Her eyes felt hot, her head suddenly light. Fuck... _fuck _what was that?

Marya Maximoff let go of Pietro, who stepped backward. As if he _wanted _her to have all this woman's attention. But Wanda only had a moment to be confused before she felt the older woman take her hands in hers. Small, delicate, brown hands– long fingered, with rough palms. Warm and strong and beautiful. Fascinating, as those dark fingers twined with her own paler ones. Wanda could barely pull her eyes from them, when she finally looked up to meet those dark eyes. ::My little girl... we didn't know... we didn't know what happened to you... you've grown so beautiful...::

Wanda felt like she was choking, as another tear slid down Marya's flawless cheek. The older woman leaned in, kissed her on the lips once, and then stepped back, eyes raking over her, almost hungrily.

Once Wanda's mind processed the Romani, she shook her head. If she hadn't known where Wanda had been... if it was such an issue... how had she known where Pietro had been? She obviously _had _known...

A sudden stab of pain shot through Wanda's confused brain. And her eyes were suddenly wet, the world a blur.

Pietro was at her side, his arm around her waist, steadying her. She hadn't even noticed that she'd swooned...

How was it... why was she... had Pietro been in contact with the Maximoffs? Why hadn't he said anything...? She'd thought they'd forgotten... she'd...

She hadn't thought at all. How could she have forgotten her _mother_? Even if it was ten years ago, how _could _she? And how could Pietro speak to them and never mention her, never _tell _her?

Wanda shot her twin a sidelong glance, hoping for answers. But Pietro avoided her eyes, pointedly. Obviously.

Marya released her grip on the girl, and placed a hand on each of their faces. ::Come inside, children. Django will be so happy. We've...,:: And here, her voice caught, and she let her hands fall to her side, her eyes turn back toward the house. ::We've missed you terribly.::

As she walked away, they started after her, and Wanda looked to Pietro again.

This time, he caught her eyes.

And quickly looked away.

Wanda tried to blink away the blurriness, tried swallowing the lump in her throat again, wondering desperately why she couldn't be angry with him. She _should _be angry. She _knew _she should. He had been withholding... something from her. She'd _thought _he would never lie to her. To the rest of the Brotherhood, yes. To everyone else in the world, naturally.

But somehow, she'd thought he wouldn't lie to _her_. They'd had their fights, they hadn't been _close_ since... well, since they'd been here last, it seemed. But... she'd thought...

Pietro was her brother. She loved him and hated him and it was the same thing. She _felt _for him. And if she couldn't rely on him... if her own family was a mystery to her...

What the _fuck _was she doing here?

Fuck. Too many feelings. None of them angry.

Fuck! Why. Couldn't. She. Get. _Angry_?

And what the _hell _was wrong with her eyes?

* * *

AN: Well here I am again, a long time later, but with a nice fat chapter for everyone to witness! Things are starting to fall apart, or together, depending on how you look at it, and next time around much more will be explained. Stay tuned, I will not fail you!

And now... shout out time!

_Caliente_: Ahhh yes, my psycho love thingy. God forbid I should make anything... you know, easy to understand. Ah well, I do hope this love-tangle sorts itself out, for better or for worse, because I don't think I can handle any more complication. My brain feels melty ;)

_Risty_: And I'm back ... again! The angst shall continue to fly throughout this fic, I fear. HCT was to prepare me for the angst. This is... the big one. We all know how I love to break Jean-Paul's heart. Ohhh I'll build him back up again... eventually. ahem

_crazyspaceystracey_: First of all, thank you SO much for the compliments on the JP/JM interaction. Obviously, the pair is near and dear to my heart– they spawned this whole mess of evo-fic, after all. You're a dear. And as for Sasquatch, ohhh yes, he was an old flame of JM's (and JP's... but that's a horse of a different color, and never really _happened_ per se...) back in their AF days in 616. And he's a cool dude, definitely. Look for more of him _very _soon.

_Angharad_: Woot! You dig! ;)

_The Rogue Witch_: Not dead _yet!_ And let me be honest– Scott/Rogue makes me happy. Maybe it's cliche for Evo but... yeah. Talk about dense. Duh, Scooter, wake up boy!

_Akuma no Tsubasa_: About Ray freaking out– all will either be explained in a later chapter... or in a sequel or... something. I know what he's freaking out about, it just kinda doesn't relate to the main plot, and I have so many twists and turns happening already, I'm rather afraid to put it in. So I might consider it fodder for a later fic... cause god knows I hate dangling plotlines. Shudder. Anyhow, glad to see you're still reading!

_Namida_: Hands you more Alexness And yes, STILL alive!

_Amura_: Yay, more Walter love! He's so the man! Believe it or not, I've been writing this chapter since the day I put up the last one. I know, forever ago. But yes, I'm still here, and still turning it out. And will be till the bitter end.

_Star-of-Chaos_: Yes, Antarctica soured me. I wanted to stab something after reading that. Repeatedly. And I don't think I can ever come back. R/R is cool in Evo, though, to be honest. Cajun Spice was an awesome episode. I just... well... yeah. Nice to meet you though!

_Amelia Glitter_: Oh yeah, Pietro avoided her love question. Definitely. And as for JM... she's actually way less fucked up here than she is in 616 atm, if you can believe it. She's Marvel's favorite punching bag... Le Sigh.

_Vespie_: Thank you SO much for the lovely compliments. You're a darling for... guh. All of it. I honestly worry about Rogue, because I simply don't WANT to do her all... over the top. Even if she is a bit in Evo. And... well, I'm glad to hear it works. Thank you!

_Cailleach Bheur_: Well, first off, your review was effing amazing. Helpful, insightful, and just really damn sweet of you in general. That kind of feedback is the stuff of dreams, my dear. And second, now that you know me... you've probably more fully explored my love of utterly stupid pairings. And... yay! You like Sam/Wanda! God, they make me happy! As for the Bobster... he has a bit coming up... checks notes in two chapters, looks like. Though I hope the cameo here was enough to hold you over for a few.

_Relwarc_: Again, with the excellent feedback. You're right, quality over quantity, and I do hope I can continue to deliver to your satisfaction. And yes, JP presently has some issues. I knew from the start I was going to keep piling it on my favorite speedster, and... it's going to get worse before it gets better. But let's hope that makes it more interesting, and not intolerable! As for your wishes for Alex to get some, Transia, and a complete and utter turning around of the Rogue/Gambit norm... waves magic wand they SHALL be granted. See how I love you?

_girlonthem00n: _Whoa! You read that all in one night! hands you a medal you have the patience of a goddess, girl. Thanks for the compliments!

_DemonRogue13: _Thank you thank you and I do hope you're still reading!

_Taineyah_: Again, I make you wait and wait . I dunno about genius... but I definitely have more of that torture stuff... ;)

_Summing up the Stars_: HAHAHA! deep breath That is one of those reviews that is both flattering and scary at the same time. You made me laugh, and I adore it. And yes, I got the point wink. For you!

That's all for today, folks. Thanks for reading! Much love -Beaubier-


	11. Stories and Experiments

Chapter Ten: Stories and Experiments

::Your sister has changed.::

Pietro looked up from where he sat, strangely still, in the back yard. Marya was inside, having insisted she be allowed to show Wanda how to cook her "specialty." Pietro had decided not to tell her she'd have better luck with him in the kitchen. Wanda, when she wasn't sending him looks that very clearly said, "Wait till I get you alone, Pietro," had been swallowing Marya with her eyes. That was the only way he could think of it– the way his twin looked at their foster-mother. It was as if she were hungry for the sight of her.

Honestly, he was glad her memories of them seemed to be mostly intact. But he knew, with a sickening certainty, that it wouldn't be long before one of the Maximoffs let it spill that Pietro had lived for years in Transia without his twin sister.

And he'd have to come clean.

And she'd have to kill him. For abandoning her all those years ago, even though it'd ripped his heart out, and he wasn't at all sure he'd seen it since. For lying to her after the mind-wipe, even though she was so much happier now.

Things were just... out of his control. He'd had his first real night's sleep in over a week. And all it had done for him was leave him lucid enough to realize that things were simply out of his hands.

Normally, the thought would've made him panic, and every now and then he did, a little. But mostly, he just felt... different. Being here... being home... seeing them.

He knew he'd loved them, as a child. And maybe it had never gone away. He'd never been fantastic with that love shit, after all. He'd lived with them, for six years after Magneto had sent Wanda away. Alone with them. A year after Wanda manifested during one of her temper tantrums, bringing down the fucking roof of their house in the process, injuring him, convincing their control-freak of a father to send her away, he'd sent Pietro back here. Magneto had told his son that he would be "safe" at home in Transia.

But Pietro thought he knew the truth of that. He knew when he wasn't wanted. He just wasn't useful enough, since his powers hadn't become active yet, and so he'd been sent away.

During the six years with them, he'd never told Marya and Django why Wanda hadn't come back with him. He'd refused to talk about her at all, in fact. They'd worried and fretted over it, over him, and he'd pointedly ignored it, becoming more and more distant and sullen. And by the time he was a teenager, and his mutation manifested itself, he was drinking, stealing, and fucking his way through the angst bullshit.

The mutation hadn't been that great, at first. Pain in the ass, in fact. But he'd wrestled it down, almost spitefully. Half the time, he did it to prove to himself that he _was _useful– he could control his powers, and his father would be sorry when he found out. And the other half of the time, he did it because he was scared as fuck that if he didn't, he'd end up like Wanda.

And the whole time, he'd been lonely. Jesus Christ, just remembering it, sitting here in this yard, behind the house Marya and Django had bought, in the hopes that "settling down" would settle him down...

So lonely, back then. But enough drinking, stealing, and fucking, and he'd made himself forget her. Forget that she was missing.

Sitting here now, however, he realized that he had never stopped feeling it. He'd just made himself forget the words to articulate it. But he'd been missing her since he was nine years old.

He'd made them send him back to the states when he was just about to turn sixteen as an exchange student. They didn't know what else to do with him– all the trouble he got into, caused. They would've done anything to make him happy again. And the moment he was in NewYork again, he'd ditched that whole "host family" scene and disappeared through the cracks. He'd gone looking for Wanda, at the hospital, once. Found out that she was still there, and that she hated him, and their father. And he'd never gone back. Because he wished, after finding that out, that he'd never looked for her at all. And he'd made himself forget again- forget why the fuck he'd needed to get back to the US so badly anyhow.

And his parents, the Maximoffs, hadn't heard from him since.

Django sat next to him, as the past ten years of his life flashed through his mind with the usual speed. The older man still exhibited that typical gypsy lack of personal space that Pietro had inherited, sitting so that their legs and arms were touching. His foster-father moved like a young man, still, despite the grey at his temples, and the creases around his dark eyes.

Pietro blinked at him, suddenly hit by the familiar smell and feeling of his father all over again. This father. Leather and wood chips. So opposite everything Magneto was. ::She had a... difficult time... while I was here.:: he admitted, finally, achingly aware of the American edge in his Romani, after over two years away. It had been worse, last time. But it still sounded like shit.

::We thought she was dead,:: The older man said, eyeing him sideways. ::And that that was... what had happened to you.::

Again, the speedster blinked.

He'd never even considered it. It made sense, of course. If his twin had died in the States, and he'd come back and started being a complete fucking delinquent...

But Jesus. Wanda.

Dead.

Fuck.

His eyes heated up instantly, and he felt sick to his stomach. ::No,:: He finally pushed out, past the large obstruction in his throat. Even when she'd been gone... he'd always kinda... known she wasn't dead. And maybe sometimes he'd thought she'd come back, maybe... a long time ago.

Of course, when she _had _come back... fuck. That blew.

But not dead. Never dead. The idea made him dizzy, turned his stomach to stone. Sure, she'd made his life hell for a few months, tried to have him killed, to bait their father, whom she also wanted to kill... but he'd never wanted her dead. Never. Never dead, god no, not Wanda.

Him before Wanda.

That thought frightened him nearly as much as the thought of her being gone. And he had no idea why it had arisen at all. He only knew that it was true. Locked up and far away was one thing. Gone was another. Gone was...

Fuck.

::Our father had her locked up in... a hospital,:: He tried to think of the best way to explain it to him. Might as well practice... Django would probably want to know why Wanda had fried him anyhow, after he confessed to her. Which he'd have to. Soon. ::You remember how I... move fast, no?::

Django nodded, silently, dark eyes searching his son's face. Expression unreadable. Pietro had never hidden his mutation from them, when it had cropped up. He'd been waiting for it to manifest, of course, and when he'd finally figured out why the fuck things were so annoyingly slow all the sudden, he'd actually been pretty goddamn proud of it. He didn't show it to the other kids, or his friends, or anyone else. But at home, he never cared. Not that he was at home too much. But the Maximoffs had called it magic. He let them believe it, of course, because he didn't care to explain. He didn't care about anything, then. And they'd loved him anyhow.

::Wanda gets angry... and she makes bad things happen. They call her a witch.::

Another solemn nod, ::We knew you were special, when you were given to us. We knew.::

Pietro raised an eyebrow at that. It was the first time he'd ever heard either Maximoff mention the adoption process, or lack thereof. Honestly, he hadn't even known he and Wanda were adopted until Magneto had come for him... and the family resemblance was a little too uncanny, even for a seven year old to ignore. The topic of how the twins had ended up with the gypsy family was strictly taboo with Magneto, however. Pietro had always suspected that meant he didn't know how it had happened. But Django... he had to know, obviously. ::How did you know? Who gave us to you?::

Django shook his head once, sharply.

Which triggered a strange response in the speedster. He knew damn well what that gesture meant. No more questions. And he found that he had no inclination to disobey, for once. Oh, his curiosity was burning a hole right through him, yes. But... he knew better.

Whoa. Fucked up.

::Because he thought her a witch, he had her locked away?:: The older man asked.

Pietro sighed. ::She kept making bad things happen. You know her temper... and she hated America,:: He winced, remembering what had happened to them there. The prodding and poking, the seclusion they'd been subjected to by their father. Like some kind of fucking science project. Sure, he'd pretended to be fatherly now and then, but it had always been about how useful they were to him... Christ. _Just answer the question, Pietro..._ ::She wanted... _we _wanted to come home. She told him one day– Mag... our father. He said no. And... the house almost fell in. I got hurt, and he sent her away...::

Fuck. His throat felt swollen, his eyes were burning.

This was the shit he spent almost all his free time forcing himself _not _to think about, goddammit.

::And he kept you, Pietro,:: It was only half a question really.

He nodded anyhow, ::For awhile, yeah.::

Felt like he was choking. _What the fuck?_

Django's arm was around him then. And Pietro hadn't even noticed him moving. ::You weren't meant to be apart from each other.::

Covering his face with one hand, Pietro closed his eyes. This was bad. So fucking bad.

Last time... when he'd come back... Django had told him the same thing. He'd run away for three days, that time, at ten years old. On his first stealing binge, before his mutation even manifested. When he came home, they didn't ask where he'd been. So young, and they already understood him. Jesus, they'd always known he couldn't be held down. And eventually, that was why they'd stopped asking about Wanda. He remembered it perfectly clearly now.

Because every time they'd brought her up, he'd run away.

Fuck. The things a person could block out if they wanted to... sick, really.

Goddamn... he was home. But he'd been burying this shit for so long. And he definitely wasn't ready to bring it back up. Just when it looked like things were going to get better with Wanda...

Damn. Jean-Paul would know what to do, what to say. He'd be able to think of a way to tell her that wouldn't lead to instant pain and probable death. He was assloads better at this brother shit. And so fucking sure of himself, that dickhead.

Pietro suddenly _really _wanted to talk to his best friend. So badly, it hurt.

He pushed on his eyelids, hard, then scrubbed his hand over his face, fighting down an almost undeniable urge to run. The same urge he'd been giving into since he was ten years old, and Wanda's name had been mentioned. Trying to stop his eyes burning. Trying to say something, anything.

::A lot of things happened when she got out,:: He continued his story. ::It was about a year and a half after I got back to New York. She hated me... and our father. But... he... she...,:: How to explain the fucked-up-ness that was his sister's life? ::He made her forget. She thinks she was with us the whole time, me and our father, and that we all lived in the States up until she and I moved into the house we live in now, with our friends. She doesn't remember the hospital. She doesn't know we were ever apart.::

Deep breath...

And actually... it felt kinda good to tell someone the whole story. He'd unloaded a little on JP, but not like this. And yeah, it felt good.

::You must tell her.::

Simple. Sounded so fucking simple, when this man said it. This man who'd been his father since he could remember, the man he'd missed telling him stories when he'd been stranded with Wanda in that huge bedroom in Magneto's house in the US. The man whose scent had never left his memory, the man who could sit down next to him after two years of thinking he was dead and gone and never coming back, and still treat him like... a son.

::She'll kill me,:: He explained, shaking his head. God, he knew he sounded like a whiney bitch. But that was all there was to it.

::She's your sister. Trust her.::

"My sister's a fucking nutjob," He muttered, in English, uncovering his face finally.

::Watch your tongue,:: Came the mild reproach. The only English anyone knew around here consisted of _damn, shit, hell, fuck, _and the occasional _dick_.

::Sorry, papa,:: He responded, almost eerily automatically.

Django squeezed his shoulder.

Pietro closed his eyes again. And tried very, _very _hard not to compare this man to Magneto. Not to think about the differences between Magneto's house, and the home the Maximoffs had given him here. Really... that was half the reason he'd stayed away from home so much, when he'd been sent back to them. He'd never actually thought it through, back then... but Django was more a father than his actual father would ever be.

And Pietro fucking hated it. Man, what he wouldn't have given for half the affection, the attention this man offered so freely, if it had come from the disapproving, domineering Magneto...

Fuck. No more. And he definitely wasn't going to think about the _second _time he'd lived with Magneto, when he'd been with the Acolytes...

::You remember the dreams we used to talk about? With the animal-people?:: _Change the subject. You're here for a reason, Pietro._

Django stiffened, Pietro felt him go rigid beside him. ::You shouldn't speak of–::

_Blah blah blah, forgetitoldman. _That had worked when they were five. Not anymore. ::They came back,:: He interrupted, determined to get what he needed on _this_ issue. He had to, or he was going to lose it. ::We started having dreams... bad dreams. Last night was the first time I've slept in weeks.::

::That's why you came home.:: His father's voice was solid, but flat. Betraying nothing.

Pietro looked over at him, sun-brown skin and shining dark eyes. And sighed. ::Yes, papa. But....:: He swallowed, unable to finish the sentence. He didn't even know what he wanted to say to that, the feeling it gave him was so... strong. Something involving the lump in his throat that wouldn't go away, and the tiresome burning at his eyes. Because yeah, that was the reason they'd come home. But honestly... it was... good to be here.

::I'm glad to see you too,:: The gypsy smiled, then. Gently.

Pietro just looked away. And swallowed hard. Fuck. He was _so _not prepared for this. Some things were just... meant to stay buried. And this was one of them. His whole fucking life was one of them.

::It's magic,:: Django continued, never releasing the boy from his grip, his voice still solid, solemn. ::Old magic. They tell stories about the New Men of Wundagore, half man, half animal. And the Higher Man who lives there, who created them. They are stories of our people. Just... stories.::

Looking back to study his foster-father's face... Pietro knew better. Django could tell a story like no one else. Pietro had been good at it once, too. In fact, he was still damn good at it, and probably thanks to this man. But he could see clearly enough that stories or no... this man believed what he was saying. And even if they _were _just stories, Pietro had certainly never heard them before. Which was unheard of, of course. He'd heard all the stories, and he could still remember most of them, if he tried. He hadn't tried in a long time, but he knew damn well they were in there, somewhere. And he'd never heard a story about any New Men. ::Wundagore? The mountain?::

::They say there is a castle there.:: Was the only answer.

Pietro felt his brow furrow. What was he hiding? And if there _were _animal-people at Wundagore, and they were dreaming about them before... well the dreams had stopped when they'd come to Transia, right? Did that mean they were supposed to go to Wundagore? Fuck... ::How are we dreaming about the castle and the animal-people if we've never heard the stories?::

A sigh now, from the older gypsy. ::This is magic. I told you. Some witches... can make you dream. They trap you, lure you with dreams.:: His foster father looked him in the eye now. And he looked sad. Terribly sad. ::You are twins born in sadness. It will follow you forever. Someone wants you, child. Badly. Such magic should not be strong enough to call you back from America.

::Someone wants you. Badly.::

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The corners of Rogue's mouth twitched upward in a long-needed amusement, as she watched the insanity unfold. Having Alex and Forge in the same room was just... _such _a bad idea.

"Dude, are you serious? That's hella cool, man, there were _dinosaurs_?"

The darker boy nodded enthusiastically, long hair falling into his eyes. Forge didn't even notice. He just kept talking and gesturing with his mechanical appendage, the thing making odd whirring noises, bits spinning, as he did so. "Guess it was pretty groovy," he grinned. "Even if Kurt was pretty damn sorry he agreed to let me experiment on his porting after, I think. I guess actually _seeing _the fire and brimstone was pretty unnerving... not to mention the far out creatures that live in it."

"Scary," Rogue looked up at Scott, where he stood, next to her.

He seemed to be standing next to her a lot, these days.

"Extremely," He grinned back, arms crossed over his chest, surveying the scene with definite amusement on his handsome face.

She only quirked an eyebrow, and watched, slightly awed, as Forge continued his work on the... computer/contraption/monstrosity he'd been constructing from the moment he got there– the chorus of _dudes, groovys, hellas, _and _cools_ never ending.

Remy was watching her, of course. Staring, with those burning, beautiful eyes of his. Watching her every move, and not pretending otherwise. Kitty was already busy with her laptop, writing some "tests" she needed to "compile" before she incorporated the new junk Forge was cooking up into her "system."

Right. Whatever.

Before they'd wandered in on this little tech-fest, Rogue, Scott, and Alex had been wandering through the halls, discussing the fact that no one had seen Jean-Paul since his sister had left for Ottawa that morning. And no one had actually _talked _to him since she'd been injured at the protest at NYS. Alex had come the closest, and what info he'd managed to pump out of their tight-lipped speedster was... minimal, to make the understatement of the fucking century. The trio had been lost in speculation about his whereabouts, and how he must be feeling with Pietro, whom he was obviously madly in love with, MIA, and JM, the only other person in the world he really truly loved, acting so fucking weird. And, yeah... they'd been hoping to find him down here, hiding out in one of the few private spaces available in the Institute, in one of the practice rooms or security stations below the main campus.

And then they'd stumbled across the room that held the tech-team at work. And the mood had lightened considerably, thanks to Alex and Forge and their equally retarded modes of speech. In spite of Remy.

Who was watching her.

"Think it's gonna work, swamp rat?" she asked, meeting his eyes fearlessly. It made something in her jump, just a little. But she could handle it.

Sure, it probably meant that there was something between them.

But it wasn't the right something. Not even close. And as much as he swore that he understood her, that he'd never meant to hurt her... she'd never be able to forget.

Rogue didn't let go of her grudges easily. And she didn't want to. It kept her safe, after all.

"Course it gon' work," Came the smooth reply, along with that smile. Slow and sure. And sexy.

But not sexy enough to get away with being a dodgy bastard. And anyhow... she'd seen better.

"Gambit, stop bragging and like... get over here," Kitty suddenly piped up, eyes never leaving her computer screen.

Rogue actually laughed as Remy raised both eyebrows, but obeyed immediately. "At your service, _petite_."

"Also scary," Scott's voice said, in her ear.

She looked up at him. And very nearly smiled.

"That's a killer idea! Man, you should stick around, I think we could add in some more features– we have plenty of time before Kitty will be ready for us."

"Oh dude, I'd totally get in the way..."

"Forget it man, you're cool. Give me some more of those Mission: Impossible ideas, Alex. You think it, I'll build it. It's kinda what I do. You dig?"

Rogue just shook her head, actually smiling, just a little, by that time. "C'mon Shades, let's get outta here."

"Gladly," Scott turned around, and opened the door for her. "Later guys, good luck."

"Later, bro," Alex waved, grinning from his new "assistant" spot next to Forge.

Kitty ignored them completely, totally taken in by her work.

And Remy just watched her.

When Scott closed the door behind them he stopped, and raised both eyebrows at her behind those red sunglasses. "He's not creepy at all, is he?"

"Why, Scott Summers," She grinned, wryly, "Is that sarcasm I detect?"

"I grew a sense of humor in the past few weeks, I guess."

"Sometimes, it's do or die," She raised her eyebrows, to match his.

"Sometimes. C'mon, maybe he's in the Danger Room or something, getting the shit beaten out of him by Sentinels. He's a masochist that way."

Rogue's eyebrows climbed even higher. But she started down the hall at Scott's side, nevertheless. In search of Jean-Paul again.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"You're sure about this?" Warren asked, for what he knew had to be the twentieth time, at least, ruffling his wings in irritation.

"I did it to myself," Dr. Langkowski grinned at him, clutching that security blanket of a clipboard he was so damn fond of to his chest. "And you've met Adrian and Jared– they've been through the process as well. Their mutations are perfectly normal and active, and neither of them can be detected by any kind of MDS. We're still working on the way to negate the serum you mentioned– the one your friend Pyro seems to have been injected with, that dampened his powers, but this, at least, is a start."

Warren had heard this speech roughly twenty times, as well. As many times as he'd questioned the good doctor, in fact. And each time, the good-natured, well-spoken, heroic-looking man had obliged him with both soothing words and scientific examples.

But now, it was down to the wire.

And there was Jeanne-Marie, the woman he loved, floating in a giant test tube of transparent blue liquid. Her eyes were closed, her dark hair pooling around her head, the only part of her that moved. A black strip of Kevlar was wrapped around her waist, connected to a cord that held her in position, and a long silver hose extended to the mask that covered her delicate features, allowing her to breathe. She wore nothing but the sparest white undergarments, leaving her skin exposed for the process. And she looked so cold. Her pale, perfect skin appeared blue through the cast of the liquid, her form so thin and fragile. She hadn't been eating properly since it had happened...

God, this made him hurt. The Professor had tried to talk her out of this too, when both he and Jean-Paul had failed so miserably. But she'd been insistent. She was eighteen years old, no longer a ward of the state, or of anyone, and this was her choice. He knew it made her feel somehow... in control, to be able to make this choice. Like she was taking an active role in her own recovery. And he knew she needed that feeling...

He just felt, somehow, that there must've been a better way. A way that wasn't so... _wrong_.

She just looked so... cold and... dead.

He winced, wings twitching once again, and pulled his eyes away from her with great difficulty.

"She'll be fine," Walt smiled, a bit crookedly, wrinkling blue eyes behind thick, dark-framed glasses. "She won't feel a thing."

Warren wanted to sound manly, wanted to nod his acceptance. Wanted to sound as certain as Langkowski.

But his eyes flashed back to Jeanne-Marie again. Cold. The beautiful, lively, loving woman who'd brought him so far in so little time. Who'd made him want to be alive again. Who'd talked with him about Cezanne all night. Who'd kissed him on his couch, despite the fact that Brad Pitt was on the television.

His heart froze in his chest. He had no answer in him. Just, "God, I hope so."

There was slight, very heavy pause. Warren didn't much care, however.

The doctor, however, seemed to care quite a bit. He valiantly tried, after clearing his throat, to change the subject. "She's Canadian?"

Warren blinked, confused. Obviously she was Canadian. She had a Québécois accent for god's sake. "Yes, from Quebec."

"And her brother is an X-Man too, you said?"

Still confused, he nodded.

Walter seemed to consider this. "Canada has her own team of super-humans in the making. Think they'd be interested?"

Warren simply stared, trying to wrap his mind around the question. Was the man joking? Why the hell...?

The other man's smile turned sheepish, quite suddenly. "Yet another attempt to diffuse a tense situation with random chatter goes awry. I'll just... go back to my machines and... let you worry."

In spite of himself, Warren almost wanted to smile. The man was certainly... interesting. And it was just that kind of ridiculous charm that had made him trust him in the first place– he was clueless, even more so than Warren himself. One of those brilliant scientist types with a "big dumb and hairy" looking mutation. And... an odd sense of humor.

But trustworthy. A good man. Beyond question. He'd done everything in his power today to explain the process to them, to introduce them to the others in the top-secret building who'd undergone his "procedure," Adrian and Jared Corbo, to gain their trust. And that was all that mattered here– trust. Jean-Paul trusted Warren. Warren trusted Walter. And Jeanne-Marie...

If Jeanne-Marie trusted anyone, she wouldn't be doing this.

If she needed this, however, to feel safe... if she needed this before she could trust again...

He'd stand by and watch. No matter how it made his stomach turn.

"Here we go," Langkowski's voice called, from across the room.

Jeanne-Marie's containment-tube lit up, glowing electric blue, and bubbles started to rise from the base, small and fast.

Warren's stomach jerked, sickeningly, as her body rocked slightly. Like some sort of weird science project, bringing her back to life. But he couldn't close his eyes. Wanted to, but couldn't.

Logically, he knew it was alright. This was perfectly safe, tested, and would help her immensely.

But the way he felt about Jeanne-Marie Beaubier was anything but logical.

_Just be alright when it's over, Jeanne-Marie. Open your eyes and smile at me, tell me everything's okay..._

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Lance Alvers was not in the best of moods.

Not that he ever really was, unless Kitty was involved. And even then, lately, things had been strained. Nothing serious, he knew that. He and Kit had been through way too much shit to let something like her suddenly being all wrapped up in some kind of "Top Secret X-Geek Bullshit Project," as he'd so unwisely referred to it last night, pull them apart permanently.

But that really wasn't the only reason he was pissed off, lately. So he figured he had an excuse.

Anyhow, the least he could do was buy her a fucking mocha. She loved those things. He'd just grab her one, since he was in town, and take it to the Institute. And whatever the stupid project was, she could stop for a few minutes and drink a cup of coffee with him.

Right?

Fuck, he was irritated. And still not a word from Wanda and Pietro. Nothing since that pile of money on the kitchen table four days ago, that signified their sudden, unceremonious disappearance. No note. No call. No nothing. Just a pile of fucking money.

It was weird for a lot of reasons. But Lance had a hard time shaking the feeling that it was _wrong_, simply because it was so completely unlike Pietro to leave without making a grand exit. The guy was way too much of an attention-whore for that.

And sure, last time Pietro had been gone, Lance had definitely thought good riddance. But lately... he'd been cooler. Not exactly trustworthy– Pietro was a shithead, a daddy's boy, a complete and total dick. But... well, JP seemed to calm him down, somehow. In fact... if Lance actually thought about it, Pietro's bouts of almost-coolness had started when he'd started getting laid regularly.

As disturbing as the relationship had been initially, and mostly just because it was happening right through his bedroom wall, and obviously consisted of large amounts of man love... Lance really hadn't had a problem with it. He'd kinda figured Pietro would end up with a guy. Especially after he'd come back from the Acolytes, spouting that bullshit about Lance needing to "look nicer" if he wanted to be on Pietro's team...

Shit. That thought was making him mad again...

Anyhow, yeah, that's when Pietro had started being cooler. And as shitty as it had been, Wanda had also been fucking cool since the mind-wipe thing. They hadn't exactly had deep conversations, but she was alright to hang out with. And things had been shit for a lot of reasons, yeah, but the past few months were actually the best the house had been since he'd lived there.

A fact he hadn't realized until the twins had fucking dropped off the face of the planet a few days ago without a goddamn word to anyone.

And it pissed him the fuck off.

Lance shoved the door to the coffee shop open, trying not to cause any random earthquakes as he did so. As a result, the bell that hung on the door rang just a _little _too sharply, and the people sitting around the tables nearby all looked up at him, irritated.

He glared, feeling his mouth twist up in a sneer, and started for the cash register. Fuck these yuppie motherfuckers. All he wanted was coffee and Kitty right then and...

A familiar face at the back of the shop cut the thought off, however. And a closer look confirmed his suspicions.

Jean-Paul Beaubier, bent over a book and papers. Staring into a plastic cup like it held the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

Lance had been trying to catch up with him for days. He'd even hoped to talk to JM about it at school, but once she'd been injured (he got the whole story from Kitty, of course), he realized that was a fucking long shot. Not that he wasn't irritated about the fact that she'd been injured, in and of itself. First of all, the anti-mutant crap just fried him - God, if he could get his hands on the assholes who'd hurt her, he'd personally string them up as lawn decorations around their house. And secondly, he liked JM. She was pretty cool to have around in class, not snotty like some of the other girls from the Institute– barring Kit, obviously. They had English together, and she was pretty funny. And easy on the eyes.

Another thing he'd never really noticed till it was gone. And that was shitty, cause it wasn't like he'd ever had that much in life, he really should've appreciated this shit...

He made his way to the table in the back, however, without even thinking twice. Because he knew that if anyone knew what the hell was going on, it was Pietro's boyfriend. And he'd be damned if he wasn't going to find out.

JP looked up, as he neared the table, and met his eyes, calmly. His pale face looked almost frozen. Cold.

Lance, however, was unimpressed. He pulled up the nearest chair, and sat across from the X-Men's resident speedster, never taking his eyes off the other boy's. "You weren't in school yesterday," He said.

Jean-Paul simply raised his eyebrows. "I was. Part of the day. I had to leave."

"Skipped out?"

The X-Man looked back down into his cup. "What does it matter?"

He didn't sound depressive, or weak, as he said it. Just sounded... blank. Like someone who didn't want to think.

Well too fucking bad. He'd better start thinking. And now. "Where are they?"

The other boy simply stared, impassive, cold blue eyes never leaving that obviously all-knowing liquid in his glass. "Who?"

Lance felt his lips curling up in that sneer again, and clenched his fists on the table, involuntarily. Alright, he was already pissed off enough. And as much as he liked JP– and he _did _like JP... no fucking way. "Don't fuck around Jean-Paul."

"What do you care?" Cold eyes snapped up to grab his again, face suddenly taking on an expression of disgust.

Oh, fuck no. Hell, if they hadn't been sitting in a damn coffee shop, Lance would've seriously considered slugging him right in the jaw. His face suddenly grew extremely hot, and he could've sworn that his eye was developing a twitch...

But then... he thought about the question. And realized that... he wasn't exactly _sure_ why he cared. Because things were too quiet in the house? Because he'd expected them all to work through this shit together, the Brotherhood? Because Pietro and Wanda were god knows where with zero money and no friends, and their father had just been kidnapped, and that fucking worried him? "Look," he glared at the other boy, dark eyes narrowing in his best "don't fuck with me" stare, "You have no fucking clue about us, the Brotherhood. I like you, Jean-Paul, and I know you're Pietro's boyfriend, or best friend, or what the fuck ever. But you have no idea how much we've been jerked around and fucked over. And if someone is fucking with the Maximoffs...," As he said it, another possibility occurred to him– one he honestly didn't believe, but that he knew would get a reaction out of the cocky Canadian. "Or if _they're_ fucking with us–"

JP's fist suddenly slammed into the table, and something cracked underneath it. Lance hadn't even seen him do it, really. Just heard the crack, and then saw the X-Man's hand curled up tight, shaking, in a fresh dent in the hardwood table. And if looks could kill.. The rock-tumbler knew damn well he'd be fried.

Well good. Let him get pissed. Because Lance sure as fuck was. Maybe now he'd understand. "Don't tell me about not having a fucking clue, Alvers," The speedster hissed, normally barely-there accent suddenly thicker than usual. "You're the one who has no idea what's happening here. I don't care what the fuck Pietro did in the past, this isn't about you, or the Brotherhood, so just back the fuck off."

Lance leaned in over the table, feeling his jaw clench. God he wanted to haul off and hit this sonofabitch sometimes... arrogant fucking prick. He was almost as bad as Pietro. "Then why don't you tell me? Don't you think I fucking deserve to know?"

Jean-Paul simply stared at him for a moment. Upper lip twisting, almost convulsively, as he stared the other boy down.

And then, he simply sat back, and shook his head. Just like that. Just like he'd never even been angry.

Jesus. What the fuck was up with this guy?

"They had to take care of family business," The Canuck finally told him.

Oh, thanks for the fuckin' information. But still, it was more than he'd had before, and as quickly as Lance had gotten rid of his anger, he shrugged off his surprise at JP's sudden mood swing. And sat back in his own chair, shaking his head. "Goddamn it, I _knew _this had something to do with that stupid fucking father of theirs."

Jean-Paul simply shrugged. "I don't know that, for certain. And neither did they, when I saw Pietro last."

"They were fucked up over something...," the Brotherhood boy shook his head, dragging a hand through his mop of dark hair in frustration. "Pietro was being way too nice last week for him to have been feeling normal. And he looked–,"

"Like hell," The other boy finished, in a disturbing sort of monotone. "And so did Wanda."

"What was it?" Lance asked, mostly to himself. Still moderately pissed, but it was starting to fall away, the majority of his energy now being diverted to the wave of confusion that was making his brain it's new home. "What the fuck was wrong with them?"

There was no answer, at first. JP _looked _like he was going to speak. But instead, he just bit at his lip, and shook his head. "I can't, Alvers. Start all the goddamn earthquakes you like, _tant pis_."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means too bloody bad, is what it means."

Aaaaaand there came the anger again. "Look, Jean-Paul–,"

"Listen for a minute, rock-head," The Canadian pointed at him. But without any real malice in the action, or venom in his voice, surprisingly. "They might be in over their fucking heads, but I said I'd wait a week before I spilled, and I'm going to. But yes, I know where they are... generally speaking. And I _do _think it has to do with Magneto, but I don't know for sure. And until I know, I can't say a goddamn word."

"Why are you being a dick? If they're in trouble, or if Magneto has them–"

"Then you'll be the first to know," Jean-Paul interrupted, suddenly. Staring him down.

But this time, it wasn't a challenge. It was... sincere. Like he was trying to make Lance believe him, just by looking at him like that. Cold, serious eyes.

Lance felt his brow furrow. But his fists unclenched. And so did his jaw. "The first, Jean-Paul. If you guys go after them..."

"I swear, I'll come for you."

They simply watched each other, for another minute. And Lance finally shook his head again. "Everything is all fucked up."

"Tell me about it," Jean-Paul snorted, picking up his cup, and taking a drink through his straw, looking irritated and...

Tired. Lance hadn't noticed it before, but JP definitely just looked... tired. And it was rare fucking day when Jean-Paul Beaubier didn't look like he'd jumped off the cover of GQ.

He sighed. Fuck. The guy really did look bad, though. Lance hated when he started feeling compassionate. What a pain in the ass. Happened way too much to be just a minor inconvenience too. It was getting to be damn impossible. "How's JM?"

Jean-Paul's eyes closed, just for a second. And when he opened them, he suddenly looked completely defeated. "Ask me again tomorrow."

And once again, fuck. "Missed her in class."

"I know the feeling."

Lance pushed himself up out of the seat he'd taken, and pulled a hand through his hair again. "You look like hell, man."

"_Merci beaucoup, mon ami_."

Jesus.

Hell, at least he wasn't alone in his misery, right?

"Later, JP."

"Later."

With that, the Brotherhood boy turned around, and walked away.

And yeah, he wasn't as pissed anymore. But he was sure as fuck a lot more depressed, for some reason. And really, really goddamn worried.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The house was so warm, despite the thin mountain air, the very definition of the word "cozy." A word Wanda Maximoff had never thought she'd be using to describe anything she associated with "home."

Granted, this had never been her home, this house. It was a far cry from the wagons and camps she remembered, before their father had come and taken them to the United States. But somehow, the presence of Marya and Django Maximoff– who had turned out, once she'd spent an entire day with them, to be the only two creatures in her memory that _didn't _give her a massive headache. And that was something she couldn't even say for Pietro. Sometimes, even thinking of her twin made her dizzy, made the whole world seem to fog over– despite her many memories of him from their joint childhood.

And considering the things she'd heard in the past two days– both traveling and getting reacquainted with her foster-parents from so long ago... she knew damn well there was a reason for that.

She just had no idea what it might be.

And she hadn't been given a chance to ask her brother. He'd pointedly avoided her all day, claiming that he needed to get out and run, or had to talk with Django, or was exploring some "leads" he had, and he'd talk to her later.

But he wasn't going to get away now. Their parents were in the kitchen, and they were in the small living-area, sitting close to the fire, waiting for Marya and Django to bring dinner out. And she had him by the elbow and wasn't about to let go.

"Marya said you lived here, in this house," she hissed into his ear, her heart beating fast. Despite the chilly air, the fire was doing its work admirably, and she felt almost as if she was going to start sweating. But that might've been from her heartbeat, from the strange surge she was getting, feeling like she was at the edge of... something.

She'd felt it since they'd arrived in Transia. And now, she wanted to know why.

Pietro squirmed out of her grip, and turned his face to hers, flashing pale in the firelight. The room was dark– the Maximoffs were not ones to waste their electricity, provided by a small generator nearby. Oil lamps burned, adding to the sweetly smoky atmosphere of the room. And the flashing shadows they cast only served to accent the fear and guilt etched out on her brother's almost delicate features.

Something in her felt bad, hissing at him like this.

But she knew him. And he was a liar. And a cheat. And...

She had to know.

"I did," he whispered, glancing around as if expecting spies to be watching them, listening to them. "But it's a long story, Wanda. Not now, okay?"

"I've heard that all day long, and last night before we finally passed out," she insisted, renewing her grip on him, this time further up on his arm. "Pietro, if you know something you have to tell me. Marya and Django have been acting so weird about this whole thing–,"

"Jesus, they haven't seen us in years! What do you expect?"

"Shut the fuck up, you know what I mean," She felt her brows draw down and together, and she gave him a little tug, to emphasize that she wasn't about to take no for an answer this time. "Marya told me today that she'd thought I was dead!"

Pietro closed his eyes for a moment, and he looked genuinely... sad.

Confusion washed over her, and she had to shake her head to get rid of it for long enough to tighten her grip on him.

He opened his eyes as she dug into him, and tried to pry her hand off of him. Gently, she was surprised to find. But he was trying. "Look, can we talk about this after dinner? There's a lot of stuff we need to talk about, and I swear, sis, I'll tell you everything I know. Just... wait till they go to bed, okay?"

"Pietro, if you try to get out of this–," she started to warn him, narrowing her eyes dangerously at him.

"I swear to god," He stopped trying to pry her hand off of him, and simply covered it with his own now, shaking his head. "There's something fucked up going on here, and I don't think we can figure it out unless we just... tell everything. And we gotta figure it out. Django said something about magic when I told him about the dream–,"

"So did Marya," She admitted, letting go of his arm, and taking his hand, rather suddenly, instead, her eyes never leaving his. She recalled the conversation with her long lost mother again, the almost terrified look in Marya's gentle brown eyes as Wanda had explained the dreams to her, and what had brought them to Transia. "She said it was a witch or something. And I swear she knows more than she's telling me."

Her twin nodded his silver head solemnly, and squeezed her hand. It was oddly... reassuring, actually. And unexpected. But then, any time Pietro made sense, it was unexpected. And despite the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere, with no fucking clue what they were supposed to do next...

She could've sworn that for once, things were starting to make sense. Or at least, that they were about to.

"Did she say anything about Wundagore?"

"Yeah," Wanda told him, shaking her head, "About some kind of stories. And she let it slip that we came from there." It hadn't made any sense to Wanda, of course, at the time. She'd known they'd been adopted, yeah, but Wundagore, as far as she knew, was just some lonely mountain way out in the wilderness...

"Holy fuck," Pietro suddenly blurted, perhaps a little too loud. His dark blue eyes darted around again, conspiratorially, and he shook his head at her. "Fuckfuckfuck. Wanda, Django said that the animal-people were supposedly from there, in the stories."

Something shot through Wanda then. From her brother's hand, it seemed, into her spine, and then all through her. Something like... excitement. Something like she was on the edge of a very tall cliff, looking over, feeling it pull her in. Scary and electric and... god. She was so close to _something_. "Jesus... So we had those dreams all those years because of when we were babies or something?"

"Fuck," Her twin's vocabulary seemed to be suffering an immense dry-spell, as he squeezed her hand convulsively, once again. His face was caught somewhere between extreme fear and surprise, and if she didn't know that he had nowhere to go... she would've sworn that he was about to run. "We gotta convince them to tell us abouthowtheygotus," His words were starting to smash together, almost to the point where she couldn't decipher anything at all.

"God, do you think–?"

But her thought was cut off, by a knock at the door.

::Coming!:: Came Marya's voice from the kitchen.

Wanda extracted her hand from Pietro's frantic grip, and left the warmth of the fire, to get the door. ::I'll see who it is.::

Mostly, she had to get up and get away from her brother's strange, contagious excitement and fear. For some reason, it seemed like the more freaked out Pietro got, the more her own stomach tightened, the more she felt like she was about to break into a sweat. The more she wished that she could run _with _him.

::No need, Wanda,:: Marya appeared in the kitchen door to protest, just as Wanda reached the door. She looked slightly flushed... but maybe it was just the low light, playing tricks.

The hex-witch opened the door anyhow.

And found herself staring at a strikingly beautiful woman. Probably about Marya's age, really, with long, dark hair. Delicate, high cheek bones, and dark eyes of an indiscernible color in the flash of the fireplace and oil lamps. ::Welcome,:: she said, cocking her head in curiosity at the new arrival.

The woman simply stared at her for a moment. And then looked past her, to where Pietro sat on the floor, by the fire. Staring at the two of them by the door.

::No...,:: Wanda heard her foster-mother protest again, weakly, from the kitchen doorframe.

The younger girl looked over at her, to see what, exactly, was wrong.

That's when the visitor spoke, her voice low and raspy, but with a strangely undeniably soothing quality. Not terribly unlike Wanda's own, really. ::My god, Pietro. You look just like your father.::

Every function in Wanda Maximoff's body froze then, as a cold chill worked its way up and down her spine.

And when she managed to look back at the face of the stranger at the door, the woman was crying. And holding her arms out to her.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Kitty nodded to herself, sipping at the last of her mocha, which had long since gotten cold.

She'd stopped the compiling for long enough to drink a third of it with Lance, who was especially grouchy today for some reason. Probably because she'd told him off last night for belittling her work. Whatever he'd called her project here today. And she knew he didn't mean to sound so... derogatory about it. He was just angry that she couldn't spend her day off with him...

But Jesus, he really needed to get a clue. And she did adore him, most of the time... but seriously, she thought he'd like... grown up or something since that whole Apocalypse thing had gone down.

And anyhow, he was a lot more worried than he'd let on about Wanda and Pietro being gone– and she couldn't blame him for that at all. Hell, she was worried too. Wanda was her friend, and even if she and Pietro were far from friendly... she wouldn't want anything bad to happen to him. Ever. Oh well. According to Jean, not to mention Ms. Munroe and Kitty's own mother, men never really did grow up. So not too surprising that an eighteen-year-old boy hadn't managed yet, really.

Anyhow, Gambit had actually made this whole thing really easy. Using the security codes she'd hacked a few weeks ago for Jean and Warren, combined with Gambit's information and technical... weird thieving expertise, or whatever, Forge had managed to come up with a totally helpful "Random Test Generator" for her hacking program. The crazy contraption managed to come up with every possible security scenario, based on what they already knew about ExGen's mainframe and security measures, and create those measures in a virtual reality to test against Kitty's fancy new hacker program. Once she'd gotten the thing to compile, with Forge's help, they'd put it to work against the RTG.

And after hours and hours of speedbumps, and of Gambit claiming that there was still one more angle to the security that needed added into the equation (which, of course, created roughly five hundred new tests for Kitty's programs to run up against,) which usually required some code re-writing, and some surprising and inventive suggestions from the new addition of Alex to the tech team... she thought they really might have a program that could handle pretty much anything the bastards were capable of throwing at them.

Hell... maybe she really _would _study comp sci at college. This stuff was a total breeze!

Not only all that, but Forge had also come up with a new power source for all the machines they were running to take care of the programs, and he'd made some of what Alex called "gamer mods" to the processor, to avoid burnout. Hell, they didn't even need to overclock the thing, with the modifications Forge had come up with...

For someone who was a child of the 60s and 70s, he'd sure caught on to modern technology awful fast. Of course... that was his mutation.

"Good work, _chaton_," Gambit sat down next to her, smelling like fall and cigarettes, as usual, taking off that trench coat of his after coming in from one of his hourly smoke breaks.

She didn't even mind that he was calling her _chaton_. It was preferable to _petite_, which she'd barely managed to break him of, during their all-day crunch session. And now, at eleven pm, he'd finally seemed to settle on chaton permanently.

She could handle that. Actually, it was kinda cute. And he really _had _been totally cool about this whole thing. She'd kinda expected him to be all seedy and flirting with her or something, from the impression she'd gotten from the rest of the team about him. And from fighting him for the past year, of course. But really, he was alright.

Or maybe she just had a soft spot for big delinquents. But she preferred to think of it as being able to see the good inside someone who _looked _bad, on the outside. A book was more than its cover, after all.

Honestly, she was starting to think that Remy might not be such a bad addition to the team. Between him and Warren, the X-Men were that much better off. And if he could think of all these angles... hell, even Scott couldn't deny that it was pretty damn brilliant, the way he knew the ins and outs of hi-tech security. And if he wanted to use his powers for good instead of evil now, they'd be kinda retarded not to let him.

"Thanks, _mon ami_," She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Where are our sidekicks?"

Gambit nodded to the room next door, where Forge was demonstrating some random, kinda scary looking piece of equipment to Alex, with great enthusiasm.

Kitty rolled her eyes a them through the glass.

The blonde boy waved, grinning.

"God," She shook her head, grinning right back in spite of herself. "There is like... way more hair than common sense in that room right now, and I'm totally scared."

Remy cocked an eyebrow. "You not exactly the most common-sense oriented _fille _Remy ever met in his life, either."

"Says the man who refers to himself in third person," the girl muttered, rather good-naturedly, as she turned back to her computer screen. "Alright, call the Professor and Scott, it's time to fire this sucker up. We are _so_ taking ExGen down tonight, Gambit."

"No doubt in my mind, _chere_. No doubt in my mind."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

AN: Oh yeah, bet you thought I was gone, didn't you? Newp. This story ain't over till it's over!

Anyhow, I'd like to take this chance to thank my beta reader once again, Sue Penkivech. Damn, woman, you catch things so wonderfully. Where the fuck would I be without you?

Anyhow, on to the shout outs, cause I don't have a lot to say. It's another bit of a bridger chapter, but what can you do? It's hit the fan proper...

Almost. ;)

_vespie: _First off, thanks very much for the kind words. Will Mags die? Apparently, he dies about as easily as Jean, so I doubt I'd have any luck trying to kill the wanker. However, I agree. I much prefer gay Pietro. I have many many reasons why, and those who know me have heard the spiel one too many times, so I'll spare you. But I'm glad you like him. Cause god knows I do. Never woulda guessed, would you?

_Star-of-Chaos_: Woot, you liked Pyro! I had a lot of fun writing that bit, but damn was I scared of it...

_Risty_: As you know, I love you. But I'm just going to say that here. The weird thing is that Latveria is actually 616's country that is run my Dr. Doom. But if you're not a Fantastic Four fan, that means fuck all. I, on the other hand, have a serious Human Torch problem. Among the many others that by this time you definitely know (a little too much) about. Much love!

_amura_: Walter, as you asked for! Not much of an appearance, but yay for furthering the plot, right ;) Thanks for the faithful reviews, darling, you're so lovely to keep sending them!

_DemonRogue13_: Thanks for the review, and yeah... Pietro is having some issues. We always hurt the ones we love, no? I'm a huge fan of Scott/Rogue, Evo-wise, for somer eason. They just seem to fit for me. I'm glad it's at least (sorta) making sense!

_Minerva Solo_: Hello! I'm glad that you approve of the John-- like I said before, it made me nervous. You're an excellent writer, and having your reviews on my evo stories makes me feel so warm and squishy inside. Thanks so much!

_Angharad_: Oooooh, I dunno! Anyhow, thank you so much for the kind words, you're a total sweetie!

_crazyspaceystracy_: Yay you liked Alex and Scooter! Honestly, I never thought I'd see the day where I too loved the Summers boys... count on Evo to make it so. I'm glad that the last update came on a day when you needed it-- I've never had a better compliment than someone saying that reading a story got them through a hard day. So kind of you. I hope you enjoyed this one, you're a darling.

_Summing up the Stars_: Okay, so it took me awhile... but I _did _update ;)

_Akuma no Tsubasa_: You know, about the French thing... I've had people tell me four different ways to say the simple phrase "mon ami." I think I should've just taken French... what was I thinking with Spanish? I mean really... Anyhow, I dunno if I've dangled enough carrots this time, but I'm certainly trying! Hope you're still out there reading.

_Namida_: I too have Alex issues. Clearly. Glad you enjoyed it!

_Eboni_: Woot, you liked the "tee hee!" For some odd reason that's all I can think when I think of Pyro. Bless him. I'm glad the Magneto scene came off decently in the last chapter-- that was another one I was worried about because... well... it's _Magneto_. How the hell do you write the most powerful SOB in the world (arguably)? Thanks for reading, though, so much appreciated.

_UniversalAnimeGirl_: Ahh yes, the lack of Sam/Wanda. It hasn't died, it _will _be back, never fear! And with a vengeance. I have big plans for my darlings. For now, however... stupid plot is in the way .. You honestly are wonderful at picking up at all the undercurrents I'm so fond of playing with-- I very much appreciate your reviews. Thank you so much for being so clever, it makes me feel so loved!

_Relwarc_: Good god, JM really _is _a trooper, isn't she? Bless her, too. Her decision here to undergo the procedure is totally not my idea-- I stole it straight out of old school Alpha Flight. Just not the way she came to it. I'm not terribly original, and I know it, but I prefer to think of it as "homage" rather than "stealing." Ahem. ;) Anyhow, I'm very excited to hear that I made pop come out your nose. Not because I wish you discomfort, obviously (and damn, that IS uncomfortable...), but because I'm so glad Pyro was well-recieved. I'm wary of making him "too" insane, or unbelievable, because I really do love what they did with him in Evo-- 616 Pyro was always the mutant with the power I wanted, and the personality that made me want to smack him upside the head. It means alot to me that I've done decently with him, in your eyes. And the thing you pointed out, about your going back to Germany... you've hit the nail on the head. I actually took that scene, with Wanda arriving in Transia, directly from my own experience. Granted, it wasn't going back to my home country. But sometimes, the Himalayas feel like home to me. And landing on the tarmac in Kathmandu does me in. Every time. For just those reasons. I'm so glad it rang true, that part was VERY important to me, personally. Thank you so much!

_Caliente_: Stupid ff.n eating your review! 3 yousomuchomg. (Hey I'm talking to you on MSN while writing this... ooooh...)

_CyberPilate_: I _think _you ended up happy with me... but anyhow, you've given me an excuse to talk about Jean! So here I go! First off, I'm not a Jean fan. Not at all. Except, a bit, in Evo. And the reason is-- she reminds me of me. SO much. So when I write Jean, I write _exactly_ how I would react to a given situation. The reason for her estrangement to Scott is, literally, 1- Physical distance, and 2- A busy mind. She's gone, and she's busy. And she has a life of her own, outside of him, and it's simply more important. Seeing as how Jean is a lot like me in a lot of other ways... I gave her my own reaction. I _think _from your review of Chapter 10 it made sense... but I'm not entirely sure. Anyhow, I'm glad you are still reading, and enjoying, because your reviews never fail to make me consider what, exactly, I'm up to here!

_Girlonthem00n_: Whoa... all in one night! You sound like... like... damn. Like me ;) I do that all the time! We understand each other, apparently. And I, like you, am dying for more Pietro/JP. You have no idea how pissed they are at me right now that I don't have them screwing perpetually. Two angry speedsters in your head is so not pretty... anyhow... ;)

_Taineyah_: Yay! You liked Pyro! God, that makes me _so _happy...

_Amelia Glitter_: Hope you're still reading, thanks for the review!

_Pomegrante Queen_: I too was once a fan of R/R. However, having been a huge Gambit fangirl since the early 90s... I've seen a lot of it. And honestly... I see your point, but I simply don't like them together. I think he chose her, initially, because 1- he was attracted to her, and 2- he could never really "get close." Gambit purposely chooses women that will never be able to get "close." He's scared to death of it. Their relationship has always been... rocky. And at first, that was what was good about it. But a writer got ahold of them who blew it all to hell-- any chance at trust, at closeness they ever had should've been done when she left him in Antarctica. That is, of course, just my opinion. And, it never happened in Evo. However, I think that the way Remy used her in Evo, despite his claim that he'd "watch" her... was bloody creepy. And as much as I love him... I guess the bottom line is, I don't like R/R. I can read it, if it's well done, don't get me wrong! Just not my bag, obviously. I'm glad, however, that despite your wish for R/R, you can still read my fic! That means a lot to me, and that you'd bother to review is totally sweet.

And last, but far from being least... This one is for you. Because your Johnny will never be replaced. Because you loved everyone you ever met. And it probably sounds stupid, but every time I hear that laugh now, I'll wonder if he even knows he's doing it. We miss you, Omi-chan.

Good night, everyone. And thanks for reading.


	12. Capture and Release

Chapter 11: Capture and Release

The green-haired woman known to her colleagues as "Vertigo" was dreaming.

Mostly of power. She usually had dreams of power. It had started long before she'd developed her mutant capabilities to disturb the equilibrium of anyone she chose, and, in some cases, cause hallucination. When she was just the privileged daughter of a wall-street mogul; Danica Van Fleet.

No one knew that was her name, here in Sinister's stronghold under the Carpathians. No one ever would, if she could help it. The boss had never hooked her up to that machine of his, and her "colleagues" were too stupid to bother learning about anyone else around here. They'd rather spend what little free time they had shooting at the wildlife and arguing over who would be the leader.

All, that is, except for the new guy. Scalphunter, he called himself. And like her, he never told anyone his true name. He was obviously Native American; his bone structure, his voice, and, if one wanted to stereotype, his code name, all pointed in that direction. And he was what Sinister called a "technoformer." He could reconfigure any kind of technological device.

The man had a lot of painful toys, effectively. But his usefulness wasn't just in battle. He'd created the security systems she was monitoring tonight.

Or had been, before she'd started dreaming.

This dream, she'd had before. It involved Janos, aka Riptide, and those lovely long legs of his. The man was a hopeless imbecile, of course, but damn good in bed. And far be it from Vertigo to deny herself something she wanted. She had him in quite a compromising position, in fact, involving a blindfold and about ten feet of rope, and was about to start getting _exactly_ what she wanted–

When the alarm woke her up.

She shot up in her seat, blinking for only a split second as she jerked into lucidity...

And then took another second to stare at the computer screen, flashing red before her.

Her hand slammed down onto the comm system button, and before she could even think, she barked out, "Fuck! They're on to us!"

* * *

Remy LeBeau glanced over his shoulder at his one-time teammate, one eyebrow cocked, a very conscious expression of arrogance on his face.

Not that he was _feeling _particularly arrogant, for once. He was used to being the brains of any operation. Not that John was stupid– the man had a hell of a mind. He was imaginative, clever... had the makings of a great villain, really. He was just too easily distracted by shiny things (and fire, naturally) to make much of it. Pete had always kept to himself, though, and didn't seem particularly bright. And Sabes... _homme _was nothing but a killing machine.

Gambit had been a lot of things in his time, and could appreciate a lot of things that most people couldn't. But murder, never.

At least... not on purpose. Never on purpose.

Either way, Remy was used to being the brains of the outfit. But here, at Xavier's, they had sixteen-year-old kids giving him a run for his money. And honestly... he liked it. Everything about the place was a challenge. Gaining their trust, which was his main goal, at the moment. Finding a way to make Rogue see... that there was something between them. Even this, the building and execution of a massive security breach for Ex-Gen.

He could get used to this.

And he was convinced that he and the _chaton _should go into business together, doing security for rich bastards like Stark and Worthington. They'd make a damn fortune.

"You got 'em, mate?" His Aussie companion arched a flaming orange eyebrow right back at him.

"'Course we got em," Remy smiled. "What'd you expect, Johnny?" He let his eyes leave the screen again, turning his back on it and leaning against the console to face Pyro. He crossed his arms over his chest, and noticed the way the other man's eyes sped over him, taking in the movement. Like he was memorizing every line.

Interesting. Remy'd always known the man was... different. Had no idea he was interested in _that_, though. 'Course, Magneto kept them all busy enough, without considering any kind of relationship beyond a passing friendliness between his Acolytes– and sometimes not even that. But usually, the Cajun was good at picking up on "vibes."

Hell, maybe Johnny was just feeling grateful for the lifesaving act, and his strange little mind could only think of one way to repay Gambit...

Or maybe Gambit had just been awake _far _too long. _Sacre mere_, staying awake twenty-four hours used to seem so... easy. Twenty-one years was a long time, though. When they were twenty-one years with the Guild, and then Magneto, anyhow.

"Excellent point, _mon ami_," Pyro did a fair approximation of his accent, and grinned madly. "You're totally infallible. Romantic heroes must be."

Remy felt his brow furrow. "Romantic hero...? _Homme_, you been sniffing lighter fluid again?"

John's only answer was his typical cackle, a joyful sound that sounded a bit like, "ha-HA!-ha-ha..."

Shaking his head, Gambit turned back to his console, leaning on it with both hands, staring it down like it was his mortal enemy. He narrowed his eyes at the output, scanning quickly to make certain that the data feed was continuing unchecked. All night long, Kitty's spy-bot had been rifling through Ex-Gen's treasure trove of information. Remy couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun, seeing all that beautiful, beautiful intelligence spill forth. Maybe in London, fighting the X-Men, actually... and the spider-guardian...

Which, in retrospect, hadn't been the best idea.

Sure was a good time, though.

And since then, things had gone down hill. Real fucking fast. A few nice moments with Rogue–

"What would you do if the pony-tail valley girl suddenly told you she was in love with you?"

Remy paused for a moment. And then, shook his head again. "Johnny, your imagination is a scary thing."

"You have no idea, mate," He could _hear_ the smirk in the fire-bug's voice. "Gonna answer the bloody question?"

"I'd sweep her off her feet, of course," he replied, giving off the illusion of absent-mindedly answering. As if he wasn't thinking about it at all. "I'd hold her, look deep into her blue eyes, and tell her there's never been another like her. And I'd kiss her until she couldn't breathe." At that point, the thief looked over his shoulder and grinned at the other man, "And then... Remy probably be arrested. _Le chaton_, she only sixteen."

"Right, my mistake," Pyro grinned right back maniacally, moving forward to lean on Gambit's shoulder with one arm. "Forgot what an upstanding, law-abiding sort you are." He waved his free hand at the monitor. "But if you two can make this, just think what the children would be like."

_Mais oui_, M'sieu Allerdyce was not from this planet. Remy's lips twitched upward in a smile, and he turned his face toward his companion's. "Gotta wonder what goes on in that head of yours, John."

"Buy me a drink, let me pick your brain, and I'll tell yer."

_Dieu... was _the firebug trying to pick him up? That was... unexpected. Not unprecedented of course. Not exactly welcome either, in this case. But then again, he'd probably had worse...

Tired. That was the problem. Tired and damn frustrated.

Not that he would've been any _less_ frustrated if Rogue... wanted him. She did want him, he was sure of it... she just didn't trust him... and she obviously trusted the boy scout...

His own fault. But it was her face he'd seen when Sinister had him strung up, bleeding from his side. And it was her he'd thought to call. And he knew it was damn foolish... but he was afraid it always would be.

"_Oui_, John, we can do that some time," he sighed, closing his eyes. "Just don' think you be winin' and dinin' me. Remy not–,"

But he never got to finish his explanation. A loud, sinister sounding beep suddenly echoed through their control room. And Gambit's eyes snapped open, scanning the display frantically, disbelieving what he was seeing.

His hand slammed down on the comm unit beside him, but before he could get anything out, Pyro announced to absolutely no one, "Fuck! They're on to us!"

* * *

Scott was sweating. 

His morning workout had been rougher than usual– by request. This sitting still was getting to him. Things were falling apart around him, and all he was allowed to do was sit and watch. And he needed to get it out. Somehow.

So he kicked some Sentinel ass.

But he was still afraid. For Jeanne-Marie. For Jean-Paul. For Jean. For Alex. For the X-Men. And there was absolutely nothing he could do.

He headed down the hall, absently throwing his towel over his head and moving toward the elevator. He just wanted a nice long shower, in his own private bathroom. No locker rooms. No nothing. Just him and a lot of hot water, relaxing him.

"Scott?"

He stopped. And actually... smiled.

Jean.

They hadn't really talked much in the past few days. And he was surprised to find that he had missed her. He felt it, when he heard her voice behind him. He pulled the towel off his head, and turned around, smiling. Sure enough, there she was, in sweats and a t-shirt. Must've been working out in the gym. "How are you, Red? Been a while."

She smiled, halfway, one corner of her mouth creeping upward.

It was nice to see. But there was a distinct lack of heart-jumping. Just a slightly warm sensation, vague and pleasant.

"Alright, actually," She answered, coming to stand closer to him, ponytail swinging jauntily despite her smooth, graceful gait. "A little nervous about JM, but she called earlier to say hi. She said they were going out to breakfast in Montreal, while they had the jet out, and then coming home. She said everything went perfectly fine."

JM. Jesus, that girl... He shook his head, "I just hope... I hope she found what she wanted."

Jean's smile widened, but looked a little sad. Scott almost winced, because he knew that Jean probably still hadn't managed to convince herself that she wasn't responsible for what had happened to the younger girl, causing her already fragmented psyche to shatter completely for awhile. He knew that she realized, logically, that it had nothing to do with her. But he also knew that logic had very little to do with things like this– and that he would've been struggling with the exact same thing.

He knew a lot about her, really. More than he'd realized.

"Jean, we should talk."

She nodded, as if she'd expected it. Maybe she had. Maybe she knew him too. "Busy right now?"

"Sweaty and disgusting, but not busy. Care to join me in my room?"

"I'd love to."

They sat on the floor, backs to the bed, legs stretched out in front of them. Scott had quick-changed out of his uniform, and had found something similar to her ensemble, grey sweats with a giant X on the front and a white undershirt tank. But he was still sweaty.

She didn't seem to mind. She seemed to know what it was he wanted to say, really. And to agree.

Funny, how they'd been so far apart for the last month they'd been together. And now that it was over, he suddenly felt close to her again. Maybe it was true, what they said about pressure on a relationship forcing it to go unstable. Maybe what they'd had before should never have been tampered with. Maybe...

Maybe he should just say something.

"Jean, I... I'm sorry."

She looked over at him, leaf-green eyes devoid of any pain. Just... wide and beautiful. "I'm sorry too."

Yeah. She knew what this was about. Confirmed. "I should've–,"

"No, it's my fault," She shook her head, ponytail swinging around to lay on her shoulder, then leaned her head back on the mattress behind them, sighing. "This is harder than I expected, this whole balancing act. Things didn't work out how I thought they would, living at NYS."

"Maybe we... rushed into things," He watched her face, carefully. Part of him was surprised that this was so... agreeable. This was them, breaking up, after all. But most of him knew that she knew. And agreed. And…thank god.

She nodded, then closed her eyes.

"Jean...," He started again, taking her hand on impulse. "We've known each other a long time. And we've never lied to each other. Tell me the truth– do you honestly think we can do this right now?"

"No," she opened her eyes, and looked directly at him. "Not without hurting each other more. I know that sometimes you have to get hurt to make things work. But sometimes enough is enough. We're both... scattered. It sounds shitty but..."

"Our priority stopped being us," he finished.

She squeezed his hand. "It's my fault. I did the same thing to JM–,"

"No," he said, emphatically. She wasn't going to take the blame for this too. Yes, she had been the one to move away. But what had he done to repair the breach he'd _known_ was growing? Did one visit make up for weeks of letting things slide? How much did he show he cared by letting himself be distracted enough to watch her slide away? "No, I let it happen. And if it was me living the dorms, it might've been the other way around, easy. If one of us had said something then...," He shook his head. No point in speculating. He didn't want to keep it up– the idea simply didn't interest him. Or her, it seemed. "But now, we're here."

"If it's meant to be, it will," she smiled, slightly. "But... it's not meant to be right now."

Scott Summers didn't know much about "meant to be." But the sentiment, at least, he could agree with. Odd, this unspoken understanding. How had they both come to the same point, in so little time? Just a few days ago he'd held her in her room as she shook about Jeanne-Marie's injuries... him dreading this talk, and her feeling as if she never thought it would happen. But now... "It feels like we've just said something we've known for a long time."

Her only answer was to lean closer, shoulder pressing against shoulder, and kiss him.

It took him by surprise, at first. He couldn't remember the last time they'd kissed like this. Her lips soft and warm on his, pressing but not prying. Gentle and almost innocent. His eyes were closed, and he let himself feel her again. Because he had a feeling this was goodbye.

Maybe they'd go back to being friends. She certainly _felt _like a friend, right here, right now. Even the kiss was friendly–

A loud beep from his communicator on the desk rudely interrupted their moment, however. Both teenagers looked in its direction, over Scott's shoulder. And heard Gambit's voice. "Best get down here, Slim. We been caught."

Eyes widening behind ruby sunglasses, he turned his head around to look at Jean once more, a horrible sinking feeling lodging itself in the pit of his stomach, his brain already reeling with scenarios and schematics. "Fuck. They're on to us."

* * *

A castle. 

Well... more like a citadel, really. Jesus fucking Christ, Marya had been right. There was a goddamn castle on Wundagore mountain.

Wanda Maximoff, at the moment, happened to be inside said castle. Stone walls and floors, combined with flat-panel monitor screens and sleek halogen lamps. Somehow, the mix was pleasing. Just...

How the fuck did this shit get to Transia?

And how the fuck had her life come to this?

She sat next to her twin brother, Pietro, on one of the beds in the room– the room that she'd explained was to be theirs for the duration of their stay. Their stay with her, here in the Citadel of Science.

Her. Magda Lensherr. Their mother.

"He promised me that he could give you back to me," she was explaining, pulling fretfully at her shawl, smiling at them as she had been continuously since she'd appeared at the Maximoffs' door only hours ago. "He said he could make my magic stronger, make it reach you in far away America..."

The hex witch shot her brother a quick glance, and saw an expression of puzzled irritation on his face that she knew had to match her own. Jesus... this was the weirdest shit ever. And she'd seen some weird shit. But this... just...

Jesus.

Their _mother_. Magneto _never_talked about their mother. Said she was dead, and the topic wasn't open for discussion. In fact, Wanda had rarely ever thought about her that she could remember. She was just _that_ out of the picture. But this woman... she knew damn well that Magda's coloring– darker skin and black hair, her voice– low and able to turn from commanding to gentle in a heartbeat; all of it was distinctly like Wanda's own. Magda's face was different, however. Delicate and pretty. Almost like Pietro had gotten the shape of her, and Wanda the color.

_Thanks for the jawline daddy dear_.

And Marya and Django had believed this woman, that she was their mother. They'd cried, but they wouldn't say why. And then Magda had explained that she had been hoping to speak to them, and was so happy they'd come, and if they wanted answers, the answers lay here, at this castle.

It was the castle, the rock, from the dream. Pietro had started to shake just a little, when they'd come in view of the citadel. She'd felt like her eyes were on fire. He'd held her hand the entire way up the mountain road, and inside.

A childhood nightmare. A stormy night.

But it wasn't just a nightmare, was the thing. This was real. Everything she'd been seeing, everything keeping her awake, was suddenly real. Like walking into a goddamn Salvador Dali and seeing melting clocks all over the goddamn place. That, in fact, might've seemed normal by comparison.

Pietro had been quiet. And that was never a good sign.

She still had his hand, and she didn't want to let go. And he wasn't complaining.

"I don't get it," she shook her head, "If you're our mother, and you wanted us back so damn badly, why didn't you just keep us in the first place?"

She seemed to shudder under her mass of hair and shawl, and her dark eyes had a sudden misty effect to them. "Your father is... a frightening man. I feared that my presence would alert him to your existence."

Pietro snorted beside her, and finally spoke. His words were so bitter she could taste them. Too bitter, even for him. "_Something _sure as fuck did..."

"What makes you think he's frightening?" Wanda asked, slowly, more concerned with what it was that had made this woman, if she was in fact who she said she was, abandon them in the first place. Pietro seemed to think that Magneto was a rat bastard... and she did too. Mostly. He'd abandoned them twice, as far as she was concerned. And she wasn't about to give the fucker a third chance. But... something in her needed to know if he was really a bad man, or just...

Misunderstood.

Even though she didn't care about him. Obviously not.

"He's a vengeful man– or he became one, I should say. Once he discovered his powers." Her voice was slow, dreamlike. As if she were remembering something she'd buried for a long time.

Wanda cocked her head at the woman, narrowing her eyes. "Something happened." It wasn't a question. It was clear that _something _had happened to make Magda Lensherr so afraid of her husband that she would abandon her babies... at least, that would be the logical answer...

Magda blinked. And dark blue eyes bored into Wanda's, suddenly fearless. "It doesn't matter now."

Wanda opened her mouth, not even certain what was about to come out. But Pietro, not surprisingly, beat her to it. He let go of her hand, and stood up, suddenly pacing back and forth in front of the wall. Blessedly, at an almost-normal speed. "Actually, it does. Why are you doing this to us now? I mean, couldn't you just pick up a fucking phone and call? Or sent a goddamn letter? No, of course not. Count on _our parents_ to make everything as painful and complicated as possible–,"

"You remind me so much of him," she smiled, gently. "He was older than you when we met, but–"

Pietro stopped, and his eyes were blazing, his normally porcelain cheeks flushed pink. And his hands were clenched in fists at his side. "I'm _nothing _like him."

For just a moment, Wanda simply watched them watch each other. Her head was pounding. Pietro hated their father, and it had to be for more than just leaving them high and dry– he'd been talking about hating him since they'd thought the old guy was dead. And now he didn't seem to give a shit whether this was their mother or not, so long as she gave them answers, and now. And Wanda, for her part, didn't even have the energy to be angry. The headache was too bad, the situation too fucked up. She just... didn't understand.

"He has a point," she interrupted the staring contest. "What's with all the dramatics?"

Magda's eyes flashed back to hers. For some reason, it made Wanda swallow hard. "You are watched, always."

"By _who_?" She sighed. _Jesus, drama queen, answer the goddamn question._ Maybe she _was _their mother– she was starting to sound like Pietro...

"Your father's friends."

Pietro was suddenly at her side again, arms crossed over his chest, hip stuck out, feet planted far apart. His eyes narrowed, and he asked, "The Acolytes?"

The older woman shook her head. "Charles."

Wanda looked to her brother instantly, and he looked back. "... Xavier?" he nearly whispered.

Her mind was officially spinning, at that. Xavier? Since when was he a friend of their father's? And what the hell was going on that Xavier finding out about would be a _bad _thing...? But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Magda nod the affirmative.

"Fuck," Pietro blinked at her.

Wanda looked back to the woman, who was adjusting her shawl again, and set her jaw. _That's it. I'm getting some goddamn answers._ "This is bullshit. We need to know why we're here."

"Fuck," She heard beside her again. Pietro had his hand in his hair, and one of his aerodynamic hair-spikes was officially being knocked crooked by his worrying it. Oh yeah, he was done. When he messed up his own hair, the party was over.

But Magda didn't respond, so she took a step closer. "Why would you bring us here now?"

"Fuck!" he said, louder this time.

She glared at him over her shoulder, "We _heard _you, Pietro." But silently, she added, _don't freak out... not yet... need you... _

Because no way she could deal with whatever the fuck this was alone...

Finally, however, some reply was made by the Gypsy-woman. "Because we're free of him now. And we can be together."

Wanda suddenly felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. Yes, she had a very physical reaction to that pronouncement-- felt like her stomach getting slammed into, shutting down every process in her for one very painful, very sickening split second.

Because... fuck. She'd _known_ this had to do with Magneto being kidnapped.

"_Fuck!_" Pietro announced once more, voice having risen at least an octave.

She didn't bother to bitch him out. She could hardly breathe. "Free of our father?"

Magda nodded, smiling gently. "Yes. He won't bother us anymore. We can be together."

"How the _fuck _did you know about him being kidnapped?" Pietro was beside her again, having stepped up to where she stood, facing the other woman. His voice was decidedly unstable, and prone to squeaking at this point. But for him... this was pretty goddamn valiant, she had to admit.

"He told me."

"Who is _he_?" Wanda spat, for what felt like the hundredth time today. But it didn't matter anymore. She thought she knew...

"The doctor who showed me the full extent of my magic, who helped me bring you here," was the Gypsy-witch's explanation.

"Why is he helping you?" Pietro insisted, eyes darting around so fast that Wanda lost track of them. Looking for his way out. He would've been gone a long time ago, she knew. If not for her.

Magda didn't seem to notice their discomfort at all, however. She kept smiling, and held out her hands to them. "I'm his apprentice."

Neither of them took the offered hands. They simply stood, side by side, staring at her. Wanda leaned against her brother, just a little. He was definitely not the brave one. But Jesus, she couldn't do this alone. She had to know...

"What's in it for him?" Pietro spat.

The woman only shook her head, and smiled even wider. "So much like your–,"

"I AM NOT LIKE HIM!" The silver-haired boy declared, his face twisting up with emotions Wanda was _certain _she'd never seen in him before, hatred, disgust, and pure anger among them. Sarcasm, bitterness, amusement, she was used to. But not this...

For some reason, it made her stomach clench even harder.

She put a hand on his arm and squeezed, holding him near the elbow. He was tensed up, completely, practically vibrating with whatever it was he was holding back. "How long have you worked with him?" Wanda pressed on, knowing very well that time was short, having no idea how the hell they were going to get out of this. Information might be all they had to use, in a short time. Things were starting to feel that way... urgent. Pressurized. Explosive.

Like Pietro, really.

"A month or so. He found me at Wundagore, when I came to visit Bova."

She shared another look with her twin. Bova? Should they know that name? She said it like it should be familiar, but Wanda had never heard it before, that she knew of...

"She was my midwife when you were born, and she raised you for a time after, before you were given to the Maximoffs."

Her speedster twin suddenly seemed to go limp beside her. And leaned on her a little. "Fuck."

"Father was taken a few weeks ago," she pointed out to him, as things started to fall into place in her mind. "And from what Jean-Paul told us, Pyro nearly died and Gambit was meant to. We were never supposed to know that he was gone, Pietro..."

He shook his head, obviously seeing the pattern. "We're so fucked."

Now, she turned back to Magda. "Where is this doctor? What is his name? This is _very _important."

She bit her lip, and again, Wanda was struck by her strange, ethereal beauty. Smooth skin, browner than it should have been thanks to the sun, eyes that seemed too old for her face. Every part of Pietro that wasn't explained by Magneto's looks was right there. And every part of her, too. But that didn't even matter, at this point. All that mattered was the information.

"Give me an hour," she replied, finally. "I will tell you everything."

"We don't _have _an hour, lady," Pietro replied, practically snarling, after which he turned back to her, took her by the shoulders, forced her to look only at him. "It's him Wanda. We know it's him. Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Wait, Pietro," she batted away one of his hands, looking to their mother once again. "Just a goddamn minute." She knew he was right, of course. They'd probably known it all along, really. But what the fuck kind of choice had they had? Stay at home and lose their minds to sleep deprivation, or walk into the trap? At least the trap, they could look in the eye eventually. Face down.

And Wanda fully intended to. But there was something else they should do.

"Where is our father?"

"Wanda!" he squeaked. It would've been funny, if it hadn't been an expression of very real, very valid fear. And she felt it too, she found. She just... had to. "Jesus Christ," He continued, "Last week you were the one saying fuck him, and now you want to play hero?"

She glared at him, "We can't let him be tortured to death. You of all people should know–,"

The panic in his eyes was clear, and he latched onto her shoulder even harder now. "Yeah, I do, and you have no idea what this fucker can do. What about _us_, Wanda–?"

She turned her face back to the other woman, who was simply watching them with tears in her eyes. "Is the doctor _here_, in this citadel?"

"No!" she exclaimed, reaching out for them futilely again. "No, this is the Citadel of Science, home to the High Evolutionary. This is where you were born. The Doctor doesn't come here anymore."

"Where. Is. Our. Father?" she repeated through her teeth, glaring now, despite the woman's tearful eyes, her outstretched, empty hands. Mother or no... this was a trap. And she'd done enough walking into the arms of traps for one day.

Magda's hands dropped, and she looked at the floor. "I don't know. I truly don't. I only wanted–,"

But Pietro had other ideas. He grabbed her other shoulder again, turning her to face him. "She doesn't know Wanda. _Let's. Go_."

"Please," The older woman was now crying outright, shaking her head, "Give me an hour. I've waited so long to see you again..."

Wanda looked to her, and felt her heart suddenly leap into her throat. Beautiful face, now wet-cheeked. She was being honest... this must have been sincere... but–

"I'm too young to die," Pietro informed her, snapping like a bratty child. "And I don't know you from a bar of soap. Your little family reunion is a fucking death trap."

"No, Pietro," she begged, backing up from his icy hot glare a step, shaking her head, "You don't understand."

"No," He continued, wickedly, "_You _don't understand. You have no idea what the fuck you've just done to us, and I believe that, but we gotta get the fuck out of here." And at that point, he looked up at the ceiling, still digging into both his sister's shoulders convulsively, muttering to himself. "Jean-Paultoldme, Hefuckingtoldme. I_knew_itandheknewit–,"

"Shut the hell up," Wanda finally told him, unable to stand it anymore. If she didn't get a fucking straight answer in about five seconds, _someone _was about to get _hexed_. She pushed him backwards, just a little, and turned to face their mother, stepping closer so that she was eye to eye with the other woman, breathing hard, stomach in knots. "Why will it be different in an hour? Just tell us now."

"I will bring him to you," Magda told her, obviously trying to maintain her control. She reached out, as if she would take Wanda's hands. That Gypsy familiarity of touch.

Wanda simply stared.

She dropped her hand empty, once again. "He will explain. He'll make everything clear."

"Nonono," Pietro's hand was suddenly on her wrist. "Nice to meet you, mom, but I'mthefuckouttahere–,"

And with that, the door clicked.

As one, the twins turned to look at it. Wanda thought she might throw up. It had locked. On it's own.

"Wanda–," Pietro began, still clutching her wrist.

But she already knew what he would say, and she could feel the hex rising in her even as he said her name. Blue and green and fire in her middle, and god_damn_ was she going to hex that fucking steel door into next week–

"Take these, quickly," Magda shoved a bracelet at her, and one at Pietro. Silver and smooth, obviously modern, with strange invisible latching. It interrupted her hex, and she stared at the thing, a half finished hex ripping through her veins, her head a wreck, her brother's hand tightening around her wrist. "Put them on. They will save you from the gas. It's coming!"

Panic. Genuine panic in the woman's eyes.

"FuckinghellWanda, Do it!" Pietro let go of her and snapped his bracelet on so fast she didn't see.

She did the same... and the hex suddenly disappeared from inside of her... but she didn't smell any gas... "I don't feel any..."

A dull thud caused her to look down, however. And she saw her brother, collapsed at her feet, holding his stomach, his face twisted up in pain.

She dropped down next to him, on her knees, and immediately checked his pulse. "Fuck, Pietro! Wake up!"

He opened his eyes and the expression on his face made her whole body go numb. "Wanda... I feel sick."

His lips were pale, his eyes huge. "Oh my god," she'd forgotten everything else, "What's wrong?"

_Was _there some gas? What had happened? Who was sending in nerve gas, anyhow, and why? Because they were going to leave, obviously, but what was it doing to Pietro? And wasn't the bracelet supposed to be the antidote?

A voice from the door caught her attention however, and Wanda realized that she'd completely forgotten Magda. "I'll return in an hour," the shaky voice said.

Wanda spun around in an instant, on her feet, "_Stop. Right. There!_"

She meant to hex her, when she pointed. Meant to use the half-formed hex that had seemingly disappeared in her somewhere, but knew that they never really did. She still had it in her, she just needed to send it out, and tear shit up...

Only... she couldn't find it.

In fact... she couldn't find... anything.

She was... empty.

"Please, don't worry," Magda shook her head, pleading from outside the door as it closed behind her now, "The bracelets will keep you safe from the gas, but you cannot leave. Please, children, I'll return!"

Wanda sprung the moment she'd recovered her equilibrium from the unsuccessful hex. But she was too late. Instead, she slammed into the door just as it clicked, and re-locked itself. "Fuck!" She screamed through it, at it, around it. "GET BACK IN HERE!"

Again, she tried...

And nothing. No blue and green power. No surge. No rush of good-badness and power. No... anything.

"Jesus Christ...," Pietro muttered, still on the floor behind her when she turned around to look. "Uhhhh... god..."

"What's wrong?" she was on him again in a moment, kneeling at his side, wishing she knew what the fuck to do with a sick speedster. His color, what little he had, was coming back, but he still looked awfully fucking weak...

"Everything is so... slow." He spoke as if he had just learned how to pronounce the sounds of the language– deliberate and uncertain. "But it... it doesn't _feel _slow. It feels... right. And I... I can't make it fast again..."

Wanda looked upward, searching for an air duct. "Was it the gas?"

Pietro held up his wrist, where the alien silver thing was clasped around him. And struggled to sit up. "Or this thing. I don't smell anything funny in the air..."

She helped him sit, and collapsed back down in front of him, staring at him, watching him slowly regain his color. Pulling at her own bracelet.

The latches had disappeared. "Oh my god...," She swallowed hard. Wished for a hex to throw. Wished... wished...

"We're so going to die," Pietro leaned against a nearby wall, and slammed his bracelet off the floor with a loud clink. The thing was completely, utterly unharmed by the mistreatment.

Wanda narrowed her eyes. "No, we're not," she informed him. Because... no. No, this wasn't where it ended– on a chopping block for some freaky mad scientist who misused their insane Gypsy-witch of a mother and megalomaniac of a father. Or her brother. She looked at him hard... and decided that he was going to make it. "And neither is Magneto. But I want some answers."

She was shocked to find that when Pietro looked her in the eye, he actually looked like he was about to burst into tears.

She hadn't seen Pietro cry since they were five years old.

But it had been a really fucking hard day. And she just might have to cry too, before it was all over.

Because fuck...

Yeah. Just... fuck.

* * *

Jeanne-Marie Beaubier felt... 

Fine.

Really, truly... fine.

When she'd awakened from the procedure, she'd been cold. Walter, the darling doctor, had given her another blanket. Warren had held her. And she'd simply smiled. They'd asked how she'd felt, and she'd said...

"Fine."

Was it possible? Could this small thing, this "experiment" she hadn't even felt, couldn't even remember, have healed her so much?

_No, it's all in your mind._

_But isn't that what's most important?_

__And with that... she'd simply felt... fine.

They were in Warren's private jet, coming up on New York again, after brunch in Montreal. She'd gone out to eat. Sat across the table from her boyfriend– her wonderful, beautiful boyfriend– and held a lovely conversation about the possibility of college for her next year. What she wanted. What she dreamed of.

It felt like it had been years since things had felt so... normal.

Part of her wanted to mock herself for it. For being so weak. For letting something so obviously psychosomatic control her for the better part of a week.

But the rest of her hated that particular part of her. So she mostly tried to ignore it.

Warren looked over from the pilot's seat now, and smiled at her. When he spoke, the relief was still evident in his voice. He'd been so worried... everyone had been so worried. But she'd known all along– all she needed was to _do _something. To take control. Even if it was a symbolic action... symbols were important. They were how the human mind communicated. And if her mind needed a symbol to communicate with... well, with a part of her that couldn't otherwise be reached... so be it, _non_?

"Jeanne-Marie... you're smiling."

She covered his hand with her own, where it sat on the console between them, and squeezed it. "_Oui, mon cher_, smiling for you. Thank you, so much–,"

"Please," he squeezed her hand, taking it into his own, much larger one. Always so warm, his hands. Like his eyes. Like himself. "Don't ever thank me for anything. Nothing I do is out of the ordinary. It's all... things you should expect of me."

She shook her head, feeling her face flush. "No, Warren. I've been awful, and I know it. But I needed you for this. And you were there. You didn't have to...," but she couldn't finish. Something welled up inside of her, huge and impossible to ignore. Felt like she was going to cry...

But that was the point, wasn't it? Warren _had _stayed with her, through her most horrible moments. He barely knew her, really. And he'd stuck by her just as her own brother had. He'd given her everything he could– love when she needed it, space when she wanted it, time when that was the only thing she'd thought would help...

_He really is an angel._

_As trite as it is... and yes, it's horribly trite._

__She sighed, but kept the smile on her face.

"I did have to," he insisted, smiling right back. That quiet, understated smile, those sensitive pink lips curving upward just so. Made her want to kiss him. "I have no choice, any longer. And I can't honestly say that I'm sorry about that."

He squeezed her hand again, and she shook her head again. She wanted to tell him what she was feeling. She thought he deserved to know...

"There's Bayville," he spoke again, before she could make herself speak, pointing straight ahead, and moving his other hand back to the controls now, leaving hers alone on the console. "We're almost home."

Instinctively, Jeanne-Marie reached out with her mind, searching for the link she knew would be there, waiting for her. _Dieu_, she would be happy to see her brother. To throw herself into one of his hugs, the hugs he saved only for her. To be able to open up to him once again, without the fear of bringing him down into madness... self-inflicted madness. What a relief it would be!

But he didn't seem to be there. Perhaps she was still too far away? It felt... odd somehow. Something other than simple distance. She wasn't sure exactly _how _their link worked, but she thought she should be able to feel him. To let him know she was on her way. She cocked her head, and concentrated harder.

Nothing.

"Warren," she began, chewing on her bottom lip with sudden nervousness, "I think something is wrong."

Alarmed, but preoccupied with landing preparations, he shot her a quick, concerned glance, square jaw flexing once with worry. "With you?"

"No–," she began her explanation, only to be cut off by the sudden, rather disturbing beep of the comm unit they'd brought along.

"Angel, Aurora, this is Cyclops. Do you read?"

Code names. Jeanne-Marie's heart skipped a beat, and she shared a furtive glance with her boyfriend before he replied, "This is Angel, we read."

"How is Aurora?"

Deep breath. Things were alright. She could see the house, nothing had been destroyed... something was _definitely _off, as she couldn't really feel her brother yet... oh god please don't let anything be wrong with her brother... "I'm fine, Scott. What's happened?"

"Trouble. We've been found out, effectively. And the Professor thinks they'll send the Marauders to try and take us out. If you can't fight, JM, we understand. But you two should get out of here, if that's the case. Things are too dangerous."

Another deep breath. Another look at Warren.

He simply looked at her, right back. Steadily. And somehow, she knew what his eyes were saying, despite the fact that his lips never moved. It was her call. He wouldn't make it for her.

Not that she wanted him to. Really.

"I'm alright," she told the comm unit, nodding at Warren. "I can fight, if need be. The doctor says there are no side effects, and my powers are functioning normally."

There was a slight hesitation on the other end there. A long moment that seemed to stretch out far too long, until it felt like it was ready to snap. Along with her stomach, which was suddenly in knots. But finally, the answer came. "Then get down here and suit up. Meet us in the war room in fifteen."

"We'll be there," Warren replied. The unit clicked in reply, and it was clear that Scott was no longer on the other end. And the jet was ready for landing. "You're sure, Jeanne-Marie?" was all he asked, eyes intent on the task before him– blinking lights and landing gear.

She nodded anyhow. "I can do this. I had my time to be afraid. I want to start fresh. I have no excuses now."

He shot her a quick glance, and a slight half-smile.

And she knew he wasn't buying it any more than she was. She had excuses. So many of them. And so many of them valid.

But she also had her symbolic act. And now, it was time to fight again.

Or she'd end up hating herself far too much.

* * *

Christ. Always with the meetings! The meetings and the talking and the crap that went along with them. What was this, the third meeting in a week? No! Fourth! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, when he'd signed on for this, he really had thought it'd be, in the words of the King, a little less conversation, a little more action. 

Bobby had always been a smart kid. And it was beyond him as to why the hell the X-Men hadn't moved on this whole ExGen thing when Gambit first offered to break into the joint for them. Of course, maybe doing it computer-wise was the safer route, but now they were stuck in another meeting because Xavier thought they were all in danger. But it just... didn't make any goddamn sense. If they were in so much danger, why the hell were they sitting around _talking _about it? Jesus, even Scott couldn't be enjoying _talking _this much about something. Sure, he liked to have a plan, but daaaaamn. This was just ridiculous.

And why did he always have to sit next to crazy fire-boy anyhow? Dude had made it a point to bug the shit out of him, obviously in retribution for that time Bobby had iced up his blowtorches in London.

Which he wouldn't have had to do, if dude hadn't been trying to fry Warren in the first place. Warren might not be the most fun guy in the world, but he was good for a laugh. And he was good for JM. And really, barbecued Angel just didn't sound that tasty.

Ew. Gross. God, he was bored. No wonder he was thinking about weird shit like barbecued teammates.

Ew. Still gross.

And goddammit, Pyro was definitely moving his chair closer again.

Jesus. Between him and Steve Irwin, Bobby was completely convinced that Australia must be full of nutcases. Nutcases and crocodiles.

Crikey was a cool word though, he had to admit.

Goddammit, Scott was talking again.

"We're still analyzing all the data from the spybot," fearless leader informed them. "But from what I understand, we weren't meant to catch the connection between ExGen and Sinister so quickly– and if Warren hadn't come to us for help, we wouldn't have. What he and Jean uncovered gave us the edge. Without that, we would've been taken over in our sleep within a few months. The information, as Gambit explained it," he nodded toward the Cajun, sitting just to his left, "all points to the research Angel brought to our attention as a way to neutralize any and all mutants Sinister wants to... use." That last bit had the normally dauntless Summers looking decidedly... uncomfortable, really.

Bobby made a mental note to ask about that, later. Scott was normally really straight up about this stuff, but there was obviously something more to that sentence that he didn't want to let out. Which made Iceman, for one, start to feel even more paranoid. He shifted restlessly in the uncomfortable War Room chair. Metal. Who the fuck made chairs out of metal?

Pyro glanced in his direction and grinned.

Bobby pointedly ignored him.

"Maybe I can take over from here, _homme_?" Gambit suddenly piped up, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table.

Much to Bobby's surprise, Scott simply nodded, once, the movement jerky. And his jaw flexed. Once.

Oh man... this was too weird.

"Thing is," the thief began, gesturing in the air with one hand, "Plenty of the X-Men on his hit list, from what we seen. But he don't have the capability to take us all, yet. So he start on his pet project– and he take Magneto."

"Wanda and Pietro," Jean said, suddenly, from Scott's right.

Oh shit... shit that wasn't good. Bobby's thoughts instantly went to Sam, and how he'd been a total basketcase since Wanda had gone up missing...

"We think so," Remy only nodded, his burning red eyes flashing briefly to Jean, and then back to the rest of the table, scanning his audience carefully. "Only thing we can't be sure if is where they are–,"

"Transia."

Every head in the room, including Bobby's own, turned at that moment. To look at Jean-Paul Beaubier. Who was sitting just to his right. Straight-backed. Face totally frozen. And pale. Even paler than usual.

Shit. Once again, shit. Transia. Did that mean that JP knew where they were all along? And it was some random ass place called Transia? Of course, that was what it _had _to mean, right? But Transia wasn't a real place, was it? It was like... some fairy tale place or something?

Right?

"Jean-Paul?" Xavier prompted, after the requisite moment of uncomfortable silence.

And, finally, the Canadian boy spoke. At first, slowly, the stiffness of his tone matching his stony posture and face. "The Maximoffs are in Transia. They started having nightmares from their childhood around the same time Magneto was taken. Nightmares about home." By this time, however, his voice had slid into a strangely emotional... drone. Like he was forcing the words out. Like it hurt, just to say them. "They couldn't sleep."

"Ohmigod," came from across the table. Bobby looked up, and saw Kitty, covering her mouth with her hand, blue eyes wide.

Yeah. Ohmigod about covered it.

"_That's _what was going on?" Rogue shook her head, as if she suddenly understood something, and couldn't believe it. She shoved white bangs out of her face impatiently, and continued. "So it _was _lack of sleep making them so weird for awhile there, but it was for a _reason_."

Bobby was totally lost by now. He knew Wanda had been having some issues lately– hell, Sam had snuck out of the house after curfew for her. That _had _to be serious. But dude... there was some key piece of the puzzle missing. He normally tried to keep quiet in these things– he knew damn well he was on trial in the big team, after all. But seriously..., "How the hell could they have the same nightmares?"

Jeanne-Marie was shaking her head now, from beside Warren, where they'd sat near the door when they'd come in just a little after everyone else. "Sometimes Jean-Paul and I do."

"You two are psi," he countered, feeling his brow furrow. "Isn't that different?"

He would never know, however. Because JP chose that exact moment to speak up again. And something in his voice... freaked Bobby out. Something really intense. Something that made him not want to look at the older boy sitting beside him at all. "It was a trap, and they walked right into it."

"You could've told us sooner."

Jesus. All eyes were suddenly on Scott, as he pushed a hand through his hair, glaring hard at Jean-Paul from behind those ruby shades. He always managed to look so fucking cool, so scary, because of those things...

Bobby's appreciation was short-lived, however, as Jean-Paul instantly countered, in a voice that brooked no argument. At all. "Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me."

"You're personal feelings–," Scooter attempted to counter, now pointing accusingly across the table.

Jean-Paul was on his feet, and his chair was hitting the wall with a really damn loud clatter, however, before dude ever got the chance to finish.

Bobby's heart was in his throat. And he scooted closer to Pyro, on his left. Because judging from the way Jean-Paul's clenched fists were vibrating... someone was gonna get hit.

"Have _everything _to do with this," the speedster hissed across the table, as if no one existed in the room but him and Scott. "Do you think I _want_ him out there, in the middle of nowhere, with a madman like Sinister after him?"

Whoa. Everyone knew about Pietro and JP, of course. Duh. But damn. Just... damn.

"Then _why _would you keep quiet?"

"Scott," Xavier held up a hand, from where he was sitting near the door.

_About fucking time_, Bobby couldn't help but think. Jesus, pissing JP off was never a good idea, and the guy had been completely useless since Pietro had gone. Did Scott really want to die? Because at this point, Bobby was pretty sure that JP was making his sister look stable. His ears were getting kinda pink, and he was seriously kinda vibrating, and that was _such _a bad sign...

"I didn't know for certain that it was related," Jean-Paul spat, his words sharp and biting. "He made me swear. I don't break my word."

"Do you realize–," Scott just wouldn't let it alone, and stood up to face off with the speedster over the table.

But before Bobby had time to comment mentally on just how retarded a move that really was for someone like Scott, who was supposed to be a brilliant tactician and leader or something, Jean-Paul was on the other side of the table, with the front of Slim's uniform in his hands.

And everyone at the table, Iceman included, was just staring. Totally shocked.

Fuck. He'd finally lost it. They'd all known this day would come...

"Don't you _ever_ talk to me about what I should and shouldn't do when it comes to Pietro," JP was right in his face, but he was hissing loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. Despite the fact that he clearly didn't believe in the existence of anyone else but Scott Summers. His supposed good friend. "He trusted me, and I had to be certain before I said anything. And if you can't understand that, then you've never..."

The entire room was holding their breath as Northstar trailed off, his upper lip still curling just slightly. But for some reason, he stopped there. His grip seemed to lessen on Scott's uniform, and he took a step back, very nearly.

"Okay kid," Wolverine, who had been standing near Scott the entire time, growled. He somehow sounded... gentle, which was... okay, really weird. He put a hand on Jean-Paul's shoulder, and eased the two boys, who were still staring each other down, apart. Slowly.

Bobby sighed, as he suddenly realized that the air had been feeling pretty heavy there. Coulda cut it with a knife. No wonder he hadn't been able to breathe. Chunky air.

Jesus. He seriously felt like someone almost died there.

Never a dull moment. Christ.

"Sit down," Mr. Logan was saying, turning JP around and nudging him in the direction of his own chair now.

_Oh great, send him back over here... _

"We'll have Marauders to tear apart before long. Save it for them."

Xavier wheeled himself up to the desk now, eyeing Scott with obvious concern, and parked next to JM. "Aurora, how are you feeling?"

Bobby'd been wanting to ask the same question himself, actually. But she'd turned up just in time to listen to Xavier start his introductory speech, and even JP hadn't had a chance to hug her yet. Which, for the Beaubiers, despite their famous fights, was pretty strange.

She nodded, and smiled slightly. That pretty, shy smile she'd had when she'd first come, really. "I'm fine. Clean bill of health, as they say. I want to come, wherever we're going. I'm ready."

"We'll talk," Xavier nodded back.

Dude didn't look too convinced though. And Bobby wasn't real sure he should be. Since she got knocked in the head... JM had been in a really bad place. She looked okay now... too skinny, but that was how she'd been when she first came...

Jean started talking now, however, green eyes focused on Scott at first. Who was just staring. Not at Jean-Paul, who had finally resumed with the ass-in-my-own-chair act they were all expected to follow here. Just... staring. Like, at the wall. And then looking to Remy and Kitty, as she finished her sentence. "We'll need maps, intelligence on Transia."

Kitty nodded, brunette ponytail swinging the affirmative. "Remy and I can handle it."

"_Certainement, chaton_," from the Cajun.

"Elf, Stripes," Mr. Logan was growling again, stepping up on the other side of the still-staring Cyke, clapping a hand on the younger man's shoulder, like he was trying to shore him up or something. "Get the X-Jet ready. Just in case we need to ship out."

"We should go now," dude Beaubier piped up again.

Bobby looked over at him... and nearly scooted closer to Pyro again. Jesus... talk about little black raincloud. Dude, this was just... the weirdest meeting ever.

And they'd had some weird meetings. Particularly since the Beaubiers had been around.

Not to mention crazy Crikey the Firebug over there.

"Not yet, Speedy," Wolverine shook his head, "We got work to do. We ain't leavin' till we're sure this place is safe– these kids need protecting. Wings, Red, Shades, Flashlight, you're with me."

The designated X-Men rose from their seats, if they weren't up already, and started to file out.

"And me?" from Jean-Paul. Quiet.

But of course, Mr. Logan heard. Mr. Logan freaking heard _everything_. "Ain't you got some friends to talk to?"

Bobby looked to his right now, to see the answer...

But Northstar was already gone.

Jesus Christ, he hated when the guy did that.

"Uh... so what about me?" he asked, as Scott finally seemed to break out of his trance, thanks to Jean's prodding, and turned to walk away.

Logan turned and nodded in his direction once. "You and the Flamer can tell the kids what's up."

And with that, he turned to talk to Xavier. Privately.

Bobby sighed, and smacked himself directly in the forehead. Great. Quality time with fire-boy, who obviously wanted to melt him. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"You n me, mate," The orange-haired dude winked at him.

Yes, _winked _at him.

"Good grief," Another sigh, and Bobby stood up, pushing his chair out from under him impatiently. Okay, so yeah, he'd been scared of dude at first. But this was some serious shit going down here... and he still had some damn questions. "What the hell is up with Scott all the sudden?" he asked absolutely no one, leaning on the table with both hands, staring down at it's metallic surface, shaking his head.

To his surprise, Pyro actually replied. "Pretty kid brother is at the top of Mr. Bad-Man's want list, apparently. Fearless Leader isn't real excited, looks like."

"Christ," Bobby looked up at his unlikely companion now, feeling his own eyes go wide. Damn. Sinister wanted Alex? What the hell for? Sure, dude's power was pretty insane... he liked that right? Super powerful mutants? Wasn't the whole thing with Wanda and Pietro because of Magneto being their father and them being twins? And Wanda was definitely uber powerful. And Pietro had some control, even if he was a huge horrible bastard... "Jesus Christ," He repeated, shaking his head. Fuck. No wonder Scott had gone after JP. He must be wrecked.

"He can't help you now, mate," the orange-haired Aussie pointed out, rather unnecessarily. Satan's your only hope, down here in the fire."

Bobby made a face at the melodrama. And then rolled his eyes, to make it clear just what he thought.

Jesus, dude should write bad paperbacks, or something.

* * *

**AN:** ... I find my self at a loss... 

Oh no, wait, I now remember what I wanted to say! I pretty much anticipate reviews telling me how much I fucked up Pietro and Wanda's backstory. I realize that their mother gave birth in Bova's cottage. I realize... a lot of things. But I changed them. Cause it's Evo. Alex is also gay here in my odd little world. Woot!

While this chapter solves some issues, it definitely brings up more– never fear, there is a reason! And, I've also decided to go ahead and start planning out the sequel, which I thought I'd never say. But I have too many plots going here, and I don't want to leave a stone unturned. So... never fear. I will not leave questions unanswered.

And... now I'm really at a loss. So how about some shout-outs?

_Minerva Solo: _No worries about me, I'm always here! However, the Rps are listed on my info page, and we WILL have a Northstar up for grabs in the next few months, so I'll keep everyone updated. (wink-wink). Forge makes me so unbelievably happy in the Evo-verse– definitely get ahold of Middleverse and Shadow Dance (the episode that made me fall in love with the show, incidentally.) He's so the man!

_crazyspaceystracey: _Wow. That was so damn sweet of you, to say that the Django/Pietro conversation affected you like that. Obviously, it affected me. But... I wrote it, so there you go. And yes! Dingdingding! You were right! Magda it is!

_foggynite: _Thank you! I am glad they come off "prickly but functional," that is definitely what I'm going for! Particularly with the boys. Pietro/JP is clearly my OTP, there's no denying it. And I'm glad they have convinced you too. Rarely is such a match made... so pretty, so perfect, yet so volatile. Thanks for reading!

_Eboni_: As for Wundagore being the same place that Magneto messed with Kurt– I have theories on that. Wundagore is the High Evolutionary's citadel, which implies to me that it wouldn't have been deserted when Wolvie went to check it out, as he did in Evo, if it was, indeed Wundagore that he went to check out. SO, I'm thinking that it's like 616– Mags had his "hideout" castle (like in 616, which the BH there was familiar with), and the HE had his Citadel of Science, totally seperate. The HE and Sinister both have their power ties with En Sabah Nur, which is another complicated issue, but I wanted to keep Magneto separate from their functions in the Evo-verse, considering his obviously forced part in Apoc's whole plan. ... And that was a very long winded response to a simple question... but anyhow, I'm glad Lance went over well with you. Grouchy Grandpa Lance makes me happy. Much love!

_Risty: _Omg you complimented my Forge! /blush. Girl, you are the Queen of Forgeness, thank you so much! Very glad that the last bit with the twins in Transia didn't drag, and I can only hope and pray that this bit didn't either. It was agonizing for me, trying to write the middle section of this chapter, because I live in fear of draggage. Kick my ass if it happened!

_amura: _Woot for Alpha Flight references! I'm not sure if you were just talking about Walt, or if you caught the Flex and Radius mentions too, but either way, go you! AF owns! ... okay no, it was kinda lame, but it made me happy, anyhow! If Forge and Alex somehow crossed their DNA, don't you think the resulting child would just have the most fabulous hair...?

_PomegranateQueen_: As for Kitty/Remy, it's simply not plausible due to age issues, though I don't think they make a bad pair, to be honest. My pairs are random and I don't really control them, they control me, so you're in for a hell of a ride if you hang on for the long haul! They aren't really the focal point of my plotting, however– what is really important to how I plot the fic is the relationships between the siblings. The Beaubiers, the Maximoffs, even the Summers kids. All else is secondary, really. Rogue/Remy, Remy/Kitty, Anyone/anyone, it's a story about family. The sex is just for fun ;) I'm glad you can enjoy it, however, despite the dislike for some of the pairings, and I really feel complimented that you'd read it anyhow! Very sweet!

_DemonRogue13: _Thank you for the back up on the need for logic and care with the pairings. I definitely need that here. Sometimes. Random hook-ups serve their purposes, clearly. But sometimes, it takes time! Thanks for reading!

_Star-of-Chaos: _Pyro in the kitchen... dear god, I'm slightly afraid... god I love me some Johnny ;) Good luck with that one!

_Relwarc_: Have I mentioned yet how much I love your reviews? Just wanted to make sure... Anyhow! I actually have a good friend coughTKDcough who hates Lance with a fiery passion. To be honest, I love him. But when I pick who I use for PoV, it's mostly because those particular people will show through what I want to be shown about one of my main characters, effectively. I consider those to be JP, JM, Wanda, Pietro, Scott, Alex, and sorta Jean, Warren, and Sam, by association. The Toad appearance is definitely slated (dude... next chapter! Whoa, progress!), but only because it will show JP from the PoV I want him to be shown from. That sort of thing. It's what I think about at night, at times– who can I use to forward the plot or the character development I need? It's not that I don't love them, because Toad is actually one of my favorite Evo characters (I have Brotherhood issues, it's true.) It's just that... this is so effing complicated. I really appreciate you hanging in there, even though some characters get the shaft. I admit that they do, and I'll try and draw more of them in, simply so it doesn't get to the point where they seem totally and unrealistically uninvolved in the things happening around them. As for Magda... seriously, I don't know that she's really been dealt with, ultimately, in the comics. I've never seen anything about her after her leaving them with Bova, and Bova trying to pawn them off. If you see anything.... god, please let me know. I love those kids more than is healthy, it's true. So very, sickeningly true.

_Jen1703_: /pets Jean. It's okay baby, it's not _your _Warren, I swear... No seriously, I'm really really honored that you'd read my fic. It's so sweet of you and... gah. I love you. You know this. /heart.

_Doublel27_: Yes! Another winner! Magda it is, and we see my Maximoff obsession shine through! As for Sam... yes. How COULD any woman resist. He is SAM. And he is godly. Thanks so much for taking the time to read this, it means loads to me. You're a darling!

_CrimsonObsession: _Omg! Heart you! SO glad you understand the Warren thing– I honestly think that sometimes people forget that Evo isn't 616, and expect Warren to be a stupid playboy asshole. There are two things wrong with that, of course. One of which is that in Evo, Warren was a quiet recluse of a millionaire who was cautious and gentle. And the second of which is that 616 Warren has been through some changes since Apoc. And no one wants to give him credit for what he's done since. Bless you for understanding. You rock. But you know I think you rock!!

_cyberpilate: _I'm SO glad to hear that the last chapter wasn't... too much, with the whole Pietro flashback-ish stuff. I was quite concerned that it might be overload (and, admittedly, I am with this one too, but for different reasons.) Makes me glad to hear that things made sense. So glad. As for me putting myself into the characters... I really shouldn't admit to this if it's off-putting, but I do that with everyone. I'm really not all that imaginative– Jean has my sense of self, Alex has my inner pothead sunchild, JP has my sarcastic frozen exterior, Pietro has my impatience with the rest of the stupid ass world, Wanda is just me looking at the rest of humanity wondering wtf is happening, etc. I don't know how to write without putting myself into the characters, and I wouldn't know how to make it feel _real _if it wasn't something I'd experienced. That might be a bit much about my process, and I do hope it doesn't ruin things too much for you, but that's definitely where I'm coming from when I write this fic. A strange way to work, maybe, but it's all I have! And tell me... did you scream like a fangirl for Magda?! I'm so glad you sorted that out (figured you would, to be honest!) I've been wanting to mess with her for AGES. Marvel just left her wide open for me... mwahaha!

_Akuma no Tsubasa:_ No need to worry about me, sugah. This fic ain't over till it's over, and that's a promise! Yeah, JP isn't having the best week of his life, and it's about to get a lot worse, if you want a little spoiler. I hate to hurt him, but my darling Canuck just bleeds so pretty, it's hard to resist sometimes. Hopefully, he'll forgive me. If I give him his Pietro back...

_Slash Gorden_: Have I told you yet how much I love that SN? Slash Gorden. Ha! JP and angst simply go hand in hand, as I was just saying. I do feel bad for the fellow, but he had his fun in the last fic, and he may yet have a few happy moments in store in my head. It's just... he's such a good whipping boy. And really, he didn't have a good storyline in 616 that wasn't rife with angst anyhow. He's just askin for it ;) Glad you're still interested, however, and I'll be updating as often as is humanly possible! Thanks so much for reviewing, it makes me happeeee!

_girlonthem00n_: How many chapters will it be before JP and Pietro see each other again...? Well... okay so I have the next two plotted out VERY specifically, and they won't as of those two. The ones after that are kinda up in the air, specifics-wise, though I do know exactly what needs to happen and how. I just... don't know when or from whose PoV. So I can safely say... not in the next two chapters... but some time shortly after that! Also... gods I hope you're still okay with my Gambit. I'm so effing paranoid about writing him. Let me know, will you?

_D_: /posts more. Thanks!

That's all folks! I'm out for the night, and already into chapter twelve. I hope this one reads well, but feel free to tell me if it sucks ass. It's just getting more and more involved, and though I know exactly what's going on... sometimes it's hard for me to tell if I've communicated it well enough. I've had this damn plot in my head for the past what? Six months? So it's all a bit mushy at this point. Thanks a million to everyone who bothered to review– I can't tell you how much I appreciate the feedback. I know it doesn't seem like much, but it means a lot to me, so thanks. Also, Sue Penkivech makes me happy, because she's a badass beta reader. This chapter was a bear, so love on her please thx la Dig it. Love, Beaubier


	13. Breakdowns and Breakins

**Chapter Twelve: Breakdowns and Break-ins**

"Jesus _fucking _Christ, Riptide!"

Vertigo narrowed her eyes at the mass of man who was hissing profanity at their teammate. "Shut the fuck _up_, Blockbuster," she whispered, words dripping with venom. "Do you want to wake them up before we planned?"

"Who made you the brains–?" the hulking idiot scowled at her like a spoiled child.

She opened her mouth to argue with him–

And was promptly silenced before she even spoke, by a large hand over her mouth.

She panicked, inside. Reached for her power, finding the psionic burst inside of her that she knew would take out whoever the fuck–

"Enough," a deep voice said, as she was released. "We have a job to do. Bitchfight later."

She smirked at the man, Scalphunter, as he stalked away from the cliff, toward the house. He was digging in that vest of his again. Probably about to pull out some particularly wicked metallic projectile. Possibly containing a bomb or something equally delicious.

"Yeah, bitchfight later," a snide voice said at her ear.

Vertigo looked to her left, and there was Riptide. Smirking and raising one eyebrow suggestively.

He was just lucky he was sexy.

"Let's go people," Harpoon flashed one of his larger guns, and grinned– all teeth. "Time to scare us some X-Men."

* * *

There were many questions Jean-Paul would've liked answered, at that moment. Too many for his mind, which didn't have the luxury of processing things quite as fast as his wayward best friend's, to actually handle. So instead, he was flying.

It was nearly evening now, and he was flying, in his uniform, straight toward the Brotherhood house.

How did Mr. Logan know about the Brotherhood? What the fuck was the matter with Scott? Was Jeanne-Marie really as alright as she seemed? And god, dear god, was Pietro still in Transia, on this ill-conceived quest for answers, for sanity, for... whatever the fuck it was that was keeping him up at night.

There was no time for that, however, not now. They had to go, and soon. And he'd promised Lance, so he was coming for him, now. The more recruits they could take with them, the more of a chance they'd be able to help the Maximoffs. He wasn't certain _why _he knew they needed help...

But it probably had a lot to do with the undeniable proof that _all _pointed to the fact that Wanda and Pietro were well and truly fucked. Just as he'd known they would be. Just as _they'd _known they would be.

_Dieu_, how he wished now that he'd never let him go. Or even that he'd gone with them. That night, when Pietro had told him... would he have agreed to let him come along? They could have told Sam, or Lance, or someone else, and he could have gone with them. He should have gone with them. If they were hurt... if anything had happened...

It was his fault.

He landed on the doorstep of the ramshackle Brotherhood Boarding House, and opened the door without even knocking.

The floorboards creaked, as he made his way through the foyer, trying to calm his heart so he could speak properly. Explain himself. Rational and calm were what he needed right now; what everyone needed. Flying off the handle in front of the X-Men was one thing. Not excusable, but Scott had deserved it, and much more. And he'd get it before the day was out, doubtless.

But right now... calm.

The house smelled vaguely like a swamp, with a slight hint of burnt toast. Like old water and green and Freddy's cooking. The smell made his stomach jump. He hadn't been here since Pietro had gone...

The TV was flashing, but the curtains were drawn against the dying light. And there was Lance Alvers, slouched in a black t-shirt and slashed jeans, dark hair wrecked, leaning his head on one hand, elbow propped on the arm of the ratty red couch on which Jean-Paul had spent so many nights. His legs were splayed wide, and he was slouched low, in a stereotypically male posture. All he needed was a Miller High Life in his other hand, and he'd complete the picture perfectly. He didn't even look up, when the X-Man entered the room. He kept watching the TV. Something black and white.

He never would have pegged Lance for a black and white kind of guy.

The rock-tumbler flexed his strong jaw, pushed shaggy hair out of his eyes. And after a long moment, where neither of them spoke, he finally said, "Figured you'd show up eventually."

_Oui. _Of course he had. "The Maximoffs are in Transia."

Lance looked up now, dark eyes reflecting the movie he had formerly been so engrossed in, eerily. His expression was unreadable, but Jean-Paul assumed he knew what the question would be, that was taking shape on his lips as he parted them to speak.

He didn't get the chance, however, as a voice came from the foyer, "Transia? Where's that, yo?"

Jean-Paul turned and watched as Todd hopped past him, to the couch, then planted himself on the opposite side of it from Lance, drawing his thin legs up underneath him and squatting on the cushion. Amber eyes reflected the television even more eerily than Lance's dark ones, and his face was strangely thoughtful. Serious. The speedster stared at the younger boy for just a moment, head cocking as he took him in. Funny, he'd never really paid him much attention. He was just... rather like his best friend's annoying little brother, in his mind. Or the strange fellow who followed Wanda around.

But looking at him right here, right now... despite his singular form of suffixing half of his sentences with "yo"...

The X-Man suddenly felt like he'd been unfair to him, because Todd was very truly concerned. It was obvious in his face, the way the corners of his mouth twitched down, the way he seemed to want to curl in on himself as he crouched there.

Odd, how he was feeling more kindly disposed toward the Brotherhood than his own "teammates," at the moment.

"Near Romania," he finally replied.

"Oh," Toad blinked, rapidly. "Why they go there?"

"Nightmares," Jean-Paul replied, quickly. He felt kindly disposed, perhaps, but he was not a patient fellow, by any stretch of the imagination.

"Oh," the other boy furrowed his brow now, and blinked some more. "Why didn't they tell us?"

"Magneto," he practically snapped, deciding that ought to be enough of an explanation. And too bad if it wasn't.

"Oh," Todd said, once again, causing Jean-Paul's right eye to twitch ever so slightly. "Why–?"

"Alright, enough already," Lance stood up, suddenly, and came to stand less than two feet in front of him, heavy work boots clomping on the worn floor as he did so. His eyes were locked on to Jean-Paul's and his jaw was set. Hard. "When can we rock and roll?"

He shook his head, "It's uncertain, right now. They're making preparations, but there was talk of some kind of plan being needed."

Lance smirked, and shook his head, the expression on his face clearly saying, _typical_.

At the moment, Jean-Paul wouldn't have been surprised if his expression had matched the other boy's exactly. He was furious, still. Despite his every effort to calm his heart, he was fucking furious.

With himself, mostly. But better to focus it at the X-Men and their stalling.

"Who's going?"

"Most of the X-Men," Jean-Paul replied, "And you." With that, he nodded to Lance, and then to Todd, who was still crouching on the couch, watching with glowing eyes.

"They're in big trouble huh?" The amphibious boy suddenly spoke again, sounding extremely distressed.

The X-Man nodded, slowly. Trying to control his breathing. "Bigger than I can explain. And it's not just about them. There's an entire corporation funding ways to neutralize mutant capabilities, and the man who's behind it has them."

Lance's brow furrowed, and Jean-Paul couldn't help but observe, despite his frustration, anger, fear, and guilt, that he was strangely... neanderthal, when he was confused. "What the fuck...?"

"Sinister." The speedster knew very well that one word could explain everything.

Toad was up, however, before the rock-head could respond, and he hopped to Jean-Paul's side. "We gotta go man. Now."

Jean-Paul looked down at him. Sincere and scared. And nodded. Todd looked exactly how he felt. "Tomorrow morning, I'll call. Be ready to go." He looked back up at Lance now, locking eyes with him once more. "Be there."

"Wouldn't miss it," Alvers growled in return.

* * *

"She okay, man?"

Warren looked up, and over his shoulder, surprised to see Scott, hands in his pockets, coming toward him. He ruffled his wings, slightly irritated with himself– he hadn't even heard the younger man come out onto the porch.

He was thinking too hard.

Warren nodded, however, as Scott came to stand next to him, resting his hands on the railing, and gazing down at the grounds from behind ruby shades.

"Yes," he answered, finally, once the X-Man was situated. "I believe she is. She knows it's all in her head, but she feels so powerless against it, at the same time... and I just want everything to be... alright."

Scott nodded, solemnly. "Yeah, I hear you, man. She's a hell of a girl..."

"You said as much not so long ago, as well," he smiled.

The other boy looked up, and just barely smiled, wryly. Remembering, maybe. Like him. Before Jeanne-  
Marie had been hurt, again. "Thanks for taking care of her, Warren. I don't know why JP lets you, but I think they both really need it, right now."

"Is _he _okay?" Warren asked, raising his eyebrows and shifting his position to lean one hip against the railing. He tucked his wings up and under, tight, and cocked his head at his friend, weighing his expression with the practiced eye of a businessman. He had been sure that Scott and Jean-Paul were going to start a fist fight in that meeting a few hours ago. Really, very sure. And Jeanne-Marie had agreed with him, when they'd spoken after the fact.

And Warren wasn't exactly sure why, considering JP's infamous temper, it had been such a surprise. Maybe it was that Scott had seemed out of character too, temper-wise. But it didn't take a genius to realize that lately, Jean-  
Paul Beaubier hadn't been himself. And yeah...Warren was worried.

But Scott only shook his head, looking just as worried as he felt, still watching the grounds like he thought something was going to come out of the woods and attack them. Nothing but worry. And... a little regret, maybe? "He's not okay. And I shouldn't have pushed him, either. I feel like a complete asshole. I just...," the younger boy's shoulders slumped now, and his jaw flexed. "I'm having a really bad day, Warren."

Right. Definitely regret. Warren crossed his arms over his chest, and considered. Should he push it? He wasn't terribly used to "normal" human interaction these days– unless one counted Jeanne-Marie. Which he wasn't entirely sure one should, no matter how much he loved her, or how "normal" she made him feel. But Scott was a friend... one of the few he had. So he asked, "Can you tell me what happened?"

Scott gripped the rail a little harder, evidenced the whitening of his knuckles. "Broke up with Jean," he said, through his teeth. "Found out that Alex is on top of Sinister's Christmas list. Had a fight in front of the whole team with one of my best friends."

The last one, he knew. But the first two... okay, the lesser of the two evils first, perhaps. "I suppose the Jean breakup was coming," he took a deep breath, remembering their conversation in his kitchen, weeks ago. Christ, had it only been weeks? Felt like forever ago. "But... Alex?"

The jaw was working again, and Scott shifted, suddenly. He stood straighter, chest out, shoulders back. Took a deep breath. "Gambit and Kitty found a list of mutants, compiled from the "mental files" Sinister recently acquired from his new test subject, or captive, or whatever you want to call it. We're guessing it's Magneto. Alexander Summers was at the top of the list. And it was a list of mutants he wants."

Warren felt his brow furrow, and his wings give an involuntary shiver. "Jesus... for what?"

Still staring out, over the back yard, Scott replied in a steely voice, "Not sure. Experiments. Evil henchmen. Hell if I know."

"Why Alex?" he had to admit a certain... morbid curiosity. The happy hippy surfer boy Warren had met seemed more likely to follow in his brother's footsteps as a superhero than to end up going to the dark side...

Now, Scott looked over at him. His eyes were hard, under the shades, and he looked more like someone's father than big brother. "Apparently, it's also a list of the most powerful mutants in the world."

Warren's mouth opened, but for a moment, no sound came out. Alex? The one with the 70s hair who said "dude" every other word?

Scott nodded, obviously understanding his shock. "The Professor has been working with him, showing him how to get rid of some of the energy he builds up safely, since it gives him headaches if he doesn't let loose once in awhile. I asked Xavier today, honestly, what he thought of Alex's power," he shook his head now, brow furrowing. "And he told me that he thinks the kid could level Bayville without breaking a sweat, with his kind of power. He just doesn't know how to use it."

"Damn...," was all Warren could manage, in reply to that. Partially because he honestly couldn't imagine what the hell to say to that kind of news. And partially because of the sudden scraping sound he heard, on the other side of the porch.

As one, both young men turned to see what it was.

And jumped back, into defensive postures, when they saw the huge man _flying_ up and over the railing. His eyes were wild, and he had giant... spears strapped to his back. Warren's mind whirled, as he tried to comprehend just what the _hell_ was happening.

Scott solved the problem, however, by hissing, "Harpoon," then smacking his ever-present communicator, instantly. "X-Men, secure the mansion. We have a breach, it's the Marauders– regroup at–,"

But he never got to finish. While he was talking, the huge spear-man had taken two steps forward and leveled a mechanical crossbow at them. With three of the hugest bolts imaginable aimed right at them, dead bang.

Warren was off the ground in an instant, and he heard the click of the trigger being pulled. It echoed far more loudly than it should have, like he was hearing it in slow motion, like nothing else in the world existed. He could still hear, however. The "thwip" of the bolts releasing over the sudden pounding of his heart in his chest. The rush of blood in his ears, the beating of his wings as he flew upward.

Scott let lose with a wide blast that took out two of the huge bolts zooming toward his head. Warren felt the third whiz under his feet. And knew what he had to do, without even looking at Scott for confirmation.

Close range. This guy, Harpoon, he was vulnerable at close range. He was huge, but Warren knew damn well that he was just as strong himself. His body was extraordinarily light– but not because he lacked muscle mass. His bones were the thing that gave him that edge, hollow, yet inordinately strong. And he could use that to distract this guy, so Cyclops could take him the hell out.

Wings beating hard now, he lanced himself downward and out, as the spear-man produced yet another rocket-launcher-looking-gun, this time with a wickedly dove-tailed spear point protruding from the barrel. He aimed his shoulder at the man's side, knowing that there was nothing Harpoon could do to stop him. His wings were powerful enough to build up the kind of momentum that even a flying spear couldn't impede. The adrenalin coursing through the tight muscles in his wings pushed him to his limit, within two beats.

The spear released, and Warren heard the blast from Scott, but his shoulder impacted with his enemy's rib-  
cage a moment later. Harpoon took the hit, staggered backward with the unstoppable motion of it, but when he hit the ground... he kept going. He rolled with it, to his back, using Warren's inertia to keep himself moving, and planted his feet in the winged man's stomach, halfway through the roll.

Panic, for a split second, and then adaptation. His power was being used against him, so he waited, as the huge man's boots pushed all the air out of him, crushing his stomach and lungs, carrying him op and over the man's head as he rolled backward. He flapped his wings just as Harpoon was about to flip over– instead, the man went into a handstand, pushing himself straight upward on arms like tree trunks and stopping the momentum with a disturbing amount of strength and control, just like that. If Warren hadn't beat his wings, the sudden upthrust would've folded him in half, instantly.

Luckily, he had, and he beat again, hard, sending his own legs up and over, so that he landed facing away from the Marauder, touching down lightly. The familiar sound of Scott's optic blast caught him whirling, and he saw that Harpoon was still upside down, balancing all his weight on one hand as he launched another spear in Scott's direction with the other. Warren spun just in time to see the projectile _open_, this time, in midair, and become a net, weighted around the edges with wickedly spiked metal. Scott's blast, a thin, localized one, obviously adjusted for the spear he'd expected to be dealing with, tore through the net and knocked one of the weights off-track, but the thing spun as he tried to dive out of the way. One side swung around him, the other hit the side of his visor with a sickening crack.

There was barely time to see the visor detach itself on one side, and the skewed net wrap itself around Scott, before Harpoon had sprung to his feet again, facing Angel, leering. He pulled back, with his gun-hand, and Warren immediately pushed off the ground hard, flapping his wings in mid-spring as his opponent swung the heavy metal thing at him. There was no time to think– he needed to get to Scott, needed to help...

The gun connected with his ankle solidly, and Warren bit back the cry of pain that rose in his throat as he felt it shatter, bone crunching against bone. A shot of pure red ripped through him, burning him up– anger and agony.

He couldn't let him win. This sonofabitch had kidnapped Jeanne-Marie.

And yeah, he was good, obviously. But not that fucking good. He was going down.

Gritting his teeth, Warren spun in the air as the Marauder reached for another projectile, using his wings to whip him around fast, and slammed his uninjured foot into the other man's face. Blood spurted on impact, and Harpoon gave a garbled "argh!" as his nose was crushed, staggering backward, clutching at it.

Warren had kicked some ass, in his time as a superhero. But he'd never felt quite so gratified by the sight of blood as he did in that one moment. And he was far too pissed off to be worried by that fact.

He shot a quick glance at Scott, while the enemy staggered, and saw that his friend almost had his hands freed of the net, but the visor was hanging from one side, and his eyes were shut tight.

A few more seconds. Warren could give him a few more seconds.

He landed a foot from his opponent, who was still spurting blood, resting his weight on his uninjured leg, ignoring the other completely. Instantly, he swept the wing on his strong side around him, slamming into the bleeding man and sending him reeling to the side again. He meant to follow up with a hook to the jaw, but when he tried to hit him, Harpoon suddenly reached up and caught his fist.

For a split second, they struggled one-handed– pure muscle against muscle. Warren was still seeing red– he barred his teeth and pushed himself as far as he could go, until the muscles in his arm burned.

And then, Harpoon started to give.

Warren's moment of triumph was short-lived, however. Eyes blazing, breathing hard through the wash of blood dripping into his snarling mouth, Harpoon dropped his gun and grabbed for his wing with one hand, latching on to the ridge of it, digging his thick fingers in.

Which would have been easy enough to slip out of, for Angel. If not for the fact that the Marauder's heavy black combat boot suddenly slammed into his shattered ankle at the same time.

Warren hit the ground on his knees, blinded by the pain, but bit down hard on his lip to keep from screaming. He _would not _scream. He caught himself with one hand, his wing otherwise occupied. Sweat. Blackness. His leg felt ready to explode. Ankle pulverized. Red. Black. No air. _A few more seconds. _

He looked up, struggling to free his wing. And froze when he saw what was happening. The man had somehow produced a giant spear– a real, honest to god harpoon. And his free arm was drawn back, aiming it right at the joint of his wing.

Warren's heart stopped. No...

The enemy smiled, labored breath causing blood to bubble from his mangled nose. "How good would you be without your wings, bird-boy?"

Another ragged breath. Warren's mind was frozen, addled with pain and the most gripping, consuming, black terror he'd ever experienced. _No... god, no... anything else..._

"Feel free to scream your fucking head off," he pulled his arm back further–

"Angel, _down_!"

The sound of Scott's voice suddenly drug him out of his black terror, and Warren jerked backward, landing on his backside. His wing jerked back as well, pulling Harpoon forward and off balance, and the X-Man threw his legs out in front of himself, ignoring the pain for this one. Last. Kick. Both feet slammed into the Marauder's knees with a sickening crack, and he screamed through bloody teeth. Warren bit down hard on his lip again as his ankle crunched, shooting another wave of sickening pain up him like lighting. Tasted his own blood as the other man started to fall, at least one of his knees bent at a ridiculous angle.

On his back, cradled in his wings, Warren braced for the coming impact, lifting the one leg he still had control of, ready for 250 pounds of supervillain to land on him.

A burst of pure red energy caught the falling man, however, before it could happen, ripping through the air over Warren's head and slamming Harpoon twenty feet backward, right through the stone railing, and over the side of the porch.

Warren didn't even hear him land, two stories down. His head hit the porch with a dull thunk, and he sucked in a long, pained breath, letting it out with a frustrated growl, tasting salt and metal. "Gah... fuck... ow...," he breathed, wincing and unable to string together a logical sentence.

Cyclops appeared over him, briefly, holding his visor together with one hand. "Alright?"

Nodding as best he could, Angel forced himself to sit up, and swallowed a mouthful of blood. "Fine. Let's get him."

Scott was already at the shattered railing, however, before Warren could even try to stand. "Shit. He's gone," he barked, hitting his comm unit again. "Harpoon is loose, but he's injured and armed. Report in, X-Men."

"_Cyclops, it's Jean. Vertigo is out, but we need someone down here. Something's wrong with the Beaubiers." _

* * *

Sam watched, brow furrowed, as the heavy metal doors closed behind the firebug and his roommate.

Dammit. He should be with them.

Normally, it was just fine with the Kentucky native– he loved his team, he loved the training, he loved being one of the New Mutants. But today, it was eating him up.

They were going after Wanda. And he was stuck here in a damn bomb shelter. Waiting.

It had happened just how he'd known it would. He still couldn't fault Wanda, or Pietro, for the choice they made. It was go or deal with insanity by sleep deprivation. But he'd known, from the moment he'd seen her letter to him, that it was a trap. And now, it was all turning out to be true.

And it was a damn nightmare.

"No way I can stand bein' cooped up in here...," he mumbled aloud, shaking his head.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up. Alex. Shaking his head. "Man, I know you wanna go– I do too. I hate the idea of Scott doing all this shit without me there. And I know it's for Wanda, but, dude–,"

"Alex, I don't usually argue with the powers that be," he looked over at the surfer-boy, one corner of his mouth twitching up just a bit. Wryly, he was sure. "But this is one case I think I gotta take exception on. I ain't seen her in... too long. And I had a bad feeling about this from the beginning. I know I can help."

"You knew?" Alex's brown eyes grew wide.

Sam nodded, "She left me a letter with JP, saying she was leaving. And I figured out where to myself."

The other boy looked around, chewing on his bottom lip. And then raised an eyebrow. "Dude... let's go."

Well. That was... unexpected. Sam's mind started to whirl immediately. If they walked out of here– which they could, since the door would only open from the inside, they'd have to face a whole world of pain from Xavier. Not to mention Mr. Logan. And really... why should Xavier let them help with this one, whatever the hell he decided to do? They weren't X-Men– maybe they'd just be in the way?

But he took another good look at his friend's face...

And he knew he had to try at least, or he'd never forgive himself. So he nodded. "Come on. We can still catch Bobby and that nutcase before they get to the house."

Alex grinned his trademark thousand-watt grin, and patted his shoulder again, then started walking.

Sam followed, holding his breath.

When Alex opened the heavy door, and his face lit up with the dying light from outdoors, he was smiling. For about a split second. Then, his face lit up from a completely different kind of glow– the kind from a giant, fiery explosion. "Oh shit, Sam, we got company," he turned wide eyes to his friend. Before he launched himself out the door, head first.

Sam swung around the door now, and saw what it was Alex had been talking about. Bobby and John were out there... fighting some kind of crazy fellow with long, black hair and a utility vest that rivaled his daddy's old fishing one for the amount of metal stuck into it. He scanned the situation quickly– Bobby had just iced up something, some kind of small projectile, and Pyro was busy trying to melt half the metal on the stranger's vest, apparently. Giant bursts of flame, shaped like huge arrows, were flying constantly between the two combatants. Bobby's head was bleeding, from just above his ear, looked like, and he had another cut on his face, across his forehead. The nearest tree was covered in ice. And he wasn't moving so fast.

Enemy-guy had his arm pulled backwards, but he turned to look right at Alex, as the Hawaiian boy exited the bunker and pointed his blasters right at the guy. He let off a round of bright red energy, with that familiar Summers-sound of his. The man dodged it, moving out of the way quickly, and coming directly toward him. Pyro, by this time, had a lovely fire-giant built up, and he was laughing like the madman he was, sending the thing stomping after Mr. Bad Guy. Bobby was hanging on to a tree, looking like he was just trying to breathe.

A decision was needed. Did he go after Bobby and get him to safety, and let Pyro and Havok handle this badass? Or did he slam the guy into the nearest brick wall at Cannonball speed, and hope that Bobby was gonna be okay?

"Alexander Summers," the random bad guy was sneering, startling Sam out of his momentary trance. He didn't even seem to care about the fire giant on his ass. Not one damn bit. He was just walking straight toward Alex, who had his hands out, clenched into fists.

Which meant he was getting ready for a big one.

Shit. Sam slammed the door to the bunker behind him, but he could still hear the Bad Guy talking as he did that. "Havok. Ability to metabolize cosmic radiation into concussive plasma blasts, or explosions, centered on himself. Massive destructive capabilities. Possibly more than any other mutant on the planet."

The fire giant was on him now, but dark-haired bad guy didn't even turn around. John's laughter made it all-too-obvious where he was coming from, apparently, because the Bad Dude simply chucked something black and flashing with little red and green lights over his shoulder. Sam watched as it morphed, changed into some huge, spiky insectoid... bomb thing, within a split second. Pyro never saw it coming. The thing exploded right beside his leg, in midair, and the fire-giant died. The Aussie was on the ground, and the bad guy was coming at Alex.

And Alex was ready to blow, Sam could tell from the way his hands were shaking. He knew what he'd see on the surfer-boy's face, if his back hadn't been turned. And he knew it'd be scary. Nothing in the world as weird as seeing the happiest guy on earth suddenly turn into a walking WMD.

"Get down, X-Men," he yelled, jumping and activating his propulsion blast shield at once, sweeping Pyro up off the ground. Bobby could get behind the tree and be okay– he was far enough away. But Alex was counting on him to get John out of the way, and he knew it. That's why they were a good team, the New Mutants. They knew each other like that. Decision made.

He dropped John behind a far off tree, and landed as best he could, making a giant furrow in the yard with his head as he slammed into it. No time for precision. He stood up just in time to see Alex let loose, eyes rolling back in his head as a visible ripple of pure plasmic energy exploded out of him, right from his center.

Bad Guy, who was still walking forward, folded over like a piece of paper. He fell straight back, just like every blade of grass, every little _thing _in the path of Alex's wave, all facing out from him, the center of their new universe. In unison, Alex dropped to his knees and the huge bad man hitting his back, straight-legged and shocked, clutching yet another of his weird black gizmos.

And no way he was getting to use that. Sam jumped into action again, lighting up and grabbing the huge guy up in mid-air before he had a chance to recover from whatever the hell getting slammed by Havok had done to him. He felt the guy start to twitch, so he kicked it up, pushed his propulsion to the limit, heading straight for the house, praying that no one would be on the other side of the wall. He knew damn well that his blast shield would protect not only him but whoever he was carrying from the impact. So he had to time this just right...

A split second before he hit the house, Sam cut propulsion, counting on his inertia to carry him through, and the villain in his arms to cushion the impact until he could separate himself from him. A deafening crash, the undeniable crunch of his body against the bad guy's...

And they just kept right on going. Through the wall. Instinctively, Sam let go, and slammed his blasters into reverse. But the guy with the dark hair kept right on going. Through the next wall. Slamming into it in a decidedly uncomfortable position, his arm looking awful bloodied up, his eyes closed.

The guy was out like a light.

Sam wondered to himself if it was wrong of him to want to laugh, as he slammed back through the wall, the way he'd come, to check on his teammates. Because he was pretty sure that guy was gonna have one hell of a headache when he woke up.

But damn... who the hell _was _he? And how the hell had he known Alex?

* * *

"I still haven't spoken to Jean-Paul," Jeanne-Marie leaned heavily on her friend, warm and comfortable, as she sat next to her on a bench in the front yard.

Jean leaned back, shaking her head. "Scott says that no one has. And he left after the meeting, right away. I thought they were going to kill each other... again."

JM smiled, wryly. She'd thought her brother was going to leave Scott with a bloody nose, at the least, during that hellish meeting. Luckily, Mr. Logan had taken control... but she was worried. It wasn't like Jean-Paul to stay away from her– and he'd been so worried when she'd left. Had he seen that she was fine, and simply taken off to attend to business? Would he come back and sit with her for hours, like he used to, before?

And _dieu_, why couldn't she _feel_ him? Was he just shutting her out? And if he was... why did it feel... wrong?

It made her nervous, and a little sick to her stomach.

But she was okay now. Everything was okay.

"Scott and I broke up."

The Canadian girl felt her eyes widen, and she turned to meet Jean's. "When?"

"Earlier today," Jean's expression was a little sad, but the corners of her pink lips were turned upward, just slightly. "It was time."

Jeanne-Marie put an arm around her friend, offering a sympathetic smile. She knew how close the two of them had been, and for how long, and she knew what break-ups were like. "You're alright?"

A sad smile, and the red-head patted the other girl's leg. "Yes, I'm–,"

But she never got to finish. The comm unit JM wore around her arm beeped, suddenly, and they heard Scott's voice. "X-Men, secure the mansion. We have a breech, it's the Marauders. Regroup at–,"

Both of their eyes widened as the transmission cut out, and Jeanne-Marie felt something in her... change. Her heart sped up, her blood started to race, and her eyes shifted quickly. Without even calling on it, the vibration in her began. She felt hot, but in a good way. Hot like her light.

Movement. There. Behind them.

On pure instinct, Aurora propelled herself forward. Not quite _Moving_, in the normal human sense. She simply _willed _herself forward, grabbing Jean, pulling her away from the immediate threat. She stopped after a second, arms still around her friend, upper lip curling. She hadn't come as far as she should have– and it hadn't felt as fast. Perhaps she was still sluggish from the procedure... she hadn't actually tested _how _fast she was moving, only that she could speed her molecules normally.

The questions in her mind were a mere flash, however, because she spotted the source of her sudden shift.

Green hair. Seventies kevlar bodysuit from hell. And a smirk on her lips. Standing there on the bench they'd just been sitting on, a hand on one hip, and a huge semi-automatic pistol strapped to her right leg.

Oh yeah. She knew this bitch.

"Vertigo...," Jean growled, echoing her thoughts, her pale, pretty face twisted up into something _quite _scary.

In the sexiest possible way.

"Take her out," the red-head backed, as their opponent did a front somersault off the bench and started, calmly, to walk their way.

"Let's do it," Aurora smirked right back at the psychopathic Marauder, and launched herself into motion, again, on the molecular level. She aimed a flying kick at the woman's sternum, and connected.

But not hard enough. She knew, instinctively. Vertigo had somehow managed to shift, while she was in the air– somewhere between the time her leg extended and her feet hit paydirt. The green-haired woman staggered off-  
balance, as she reached for the gun at her leg, hand on her chest. Aurora landed and whirled on her, stooping into an offensive stance, immediately.

Not fast enough. Somehow. Too slow. Too expected.

She shook her head, clearing her mind the way Mr. Logan taught her, and advanced again. Green-hair had her balance now, squatting low, gun in hand, sneering cruelly. She closed her eyes.

"I don't think so, bitch," Aurora heard her friend hiss, from just behind their opponent.

Vertigo staggered forward, toward Aurora, eyes suddenly wide open and bulging. Jean's eyes were closed, fingers at either temple, face twisted up in concentration and face flushed in anger. "Hit... her," she breathed, through her teeth.

Without thinking, she aimed a spinning kick at the hand swinging toward her, holding what she was very certain was a _very _loaded gun. Her foot connected with a crack as the gun went off, sending something red flying past her, well wide of her left arm.

Wait... something red? That wasn't a bullet...

Aurora growled, low and fierce, and launched herself bodily at the still staggering woman who'd _dared _to shoot at her. Vertigo dropped low, wincing, gun falling out of her hand as she used it to hold herself up on the ground. Her leg swept out, and she spun backwards, taking Jean's legs out from under her at the _exact _moment Aurora landed on her back. The Canadian X-Man could only see in shades of red now– and she heard nothing but the pounding of her own heart in her head as she grabbed a handful of green hair, jerking the other woman's head backward. She jabbed at Vertigo's back, low and to the side, and the Marauder folded at the stomach as her fist buried itself in her kidney. Aurora tightened her grip on the hair, and yanked her back up to sitting. Hard.

The woman might have screamed. Aurora could see from this angle, slightly above Vertigo, that her mouth was open and her eyes closed. Jean was pushing herself up to sitting, nearby. But that was all she caught before the sickness hit her.

Her throat closed up, and she suddenly felt the blood drain from her face. Weak. _Dammit_. Too weak.

Not fast enough. Should've been faster.

On the ground, a hand at her throat. The edges of her vision were black now. Was that Jean laying nearby?

Hot breath on her face. She wanted to squirm. No air. Choking.

"You little cunt, I should fucking kill you right now–,"

Something pressing into her stomach. Something hard and metal and god there was no air... Aurora closed her eyes tight. And made herself vibrate.

Her eyes snapped open, as something totally unexpected ripped through her, like lightning, hopping from cell to cell, making her...

Explode. Light like she'd never seen before. Light like she and Jean-Paul...

A gust of wind, and she could breath again. She sat up, still shaky, confused, clawing at her own neck. Her breath only came in huge, ragged gulps.

Jean was on her feet, hands at her temples again, and a loud "thunk" caught Aurora's attention. Vertigo landed, a pile of kevlar and green, roughly ten feet from her. Aurora looked up.

And saw her brother in the air. Eyes narrowed, obviously ready to kill. He glanced down at her, quickly. ::Did you make the light by yourself? That big?::

She nodded, and flew to join him, as Vertigo staggered to her feet, reaching out with long fingernails for Jean... who was clearly the only reason they were all still conscious. "Take my hand, Northstar! We have to take her down!"

::Jean, eyes!:: he yelled– knowing very well that the redhead would understand.

Vertigo looked up, licking a thin trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth.

Jean covered her eyes, falling to her knees.

Aurora reached out, and just as she touched her brother's hand.

Everything went black.

* * *

"Christ, could one more thing have gone wrong?"

Hank looked up at Scott, and raised bushy blue eyebrows. "Why, yes, I do believe it could have. We could have lost."

The leader of the X-Men shook his head, pulling at his sweaty hair fitfully, and released a long, irritated breath. God... this was definitely not how things were supposed to happen. The Marauders had split up, come from all sides, hoping that divided, the X-Men wouldn't fight as well. And in pretty much every case, they'd almost won with that gamble.

Except for Blockbuster, the big stupid one. Who'd ended up phased halfway through the floor with a slashed shoulder tendon or eight, thanks to Wolverine, Shadowcat, and Nightcrawler. He was down in the brig now, in fact.

But Harpoon had never been found– not him, not Vertigo, not Riptide, and not the new guy who Sam had taken out. They'd all been down. And then they'd all disappeared.

On the up side, their suspicions about Transia were now undeniably confirmed. Rogue had gotten a nice long grip on Riptide, once Gambit had slowed him down with some nicely placed cards, and she'd seen the place. Now all they had to do was find somewhere that _looked _like that in Transia...

But on the down side...

Bobby had a crack to the head that he swore hadn't hurt him too much, but Hank was observing anyhow, John had shrapnel in his leg, Remy had a gash down his arm that had made Scott sick to his stomach, and Warren's ankle was just... done. They were all on so many drugs right now, he hated to think of what would happen if they had to fight it out all over again.

And then there were the Beaubiers. Who, apparently, now cancelled each other's powers upon physical contact.

And that worried him more than anything else, oddly enough.

But damn... they'd done well. He had to admit. The X-Men had really done well.

And now, it was time to go after those fuckers. For once and for all.

"Good point," he admitted, finally, looking from room to room, shaking his head. "Jesus, Hank, this was a warning. They want to scare us into staying home. Two to one are good odds for these people. We just work together well, that's why we won."

Hank nodded, solemnly, "And why we will continue to win, Scott." His eyes shifted upward then, and over Scott's shoulder. "I must check on our friend Sinjin now. We'll talk later," he excused himself, and headed toward the room where Pyro was passed out.

Scott heard the door open. And knew someone was there whom Hank wanted to let him talk to. Alone.

Which could only mean one thing.

_Deep breath, Summers. He doesn't know. He wanted to help. _

"Hey, Scott," Alex wasn't smiling, for once in his life, when greeting his big brother. His eyes were wide, still, and he looked pale. Alex never looked pale. He had been baked a permanent golden brown since he was seven, according to him. He came to lean next to the older boy, resting his backside against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. Looking straight ahead, into the room where Xavier was with the Beaubiers.

But Scott was looking at him.

He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. He wanted to choke the kid.

But mostly, he just wanted to hug him. Really tight. And never let go.

"Look, Scott, I'm sorry," he started, voice dripping with remorse. "I shouldn't have, I know that, but what if I hadn't? Maybe it was just like... supposed to be, man."

Scott closed his eyes against the clinical glare of the medlab, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose under ruby sunglasses.

"I mean... I know I'm not supposed to be an X-Man, I don't even _wanna _be, I just... Sam was really worried, and he looked so super hella upset, and I know you've been all freaking out lately, so I thought–,"

"It's okay, Alex," he finally pushed out, with a sigh. "I just... I know you wanted to help him out. But... you can't...," he looked over to his right, to look at the kid again. And found that Alex was looking at him now. With huge dark puppy dog eyes, like he used to when he was four years old and wanted to play GI Joes with the big kids.

Fuck.

Scott put his arm around his brother, and pulled him against his side, hard. He kissed his hair, and then leaned his head on the kid's afterward, taking a deep breath. Jesus. He knew he had to tell him. There was no choice, really. If Alex went on thinking that there was nothing wrong, he'd keep doing shit like this– and never see why it was such a big deal. "You gotta listen to the Prof, first of all," he began slowly, dreading actually having to say aloud what it was he had to say. "But mainly... Alex... Sinister has a list of mutants he wants. Powerful mutants. And man...," he squeezed him, and closed his eyes again, "you're at the top. So I can't... you can't come, okay?"

Alex pushed away, just a little, and looked up at him, brow furrowed, bangs falling into his eyes carelessly. "What do you mean...?"

"I mean he wants you, like he wants the Maximoffs. Maybe more, maybe less... I don't know. But... please, just...," gah. He was sounding like an idiot. But he couldn't explain this logically. He didn't _feel _like an X-Man, saying this... he just felt like...

"Okay, man," Alex nodded, once, and put an arm around him. "I'm not gonna argue, I promise. I just thought..."

"I know," he squeezed him. "You kicked some ass too, kid. I heard what you did out there."

Alex gave a halfhearted smile, at that, and when he spoke his voice sounded completely confused. "Wore me the hell out, dude. Seriously. I talked to the Prof though, he said I could handle a lot more... no idea how though."

God... if he only knew. "You can, Alex. But you don't have to right now."

"No man. Definitely not. The guy, the one we did in...," the surfer boy was chewing his lip now, eyes down, "he knew who I was."

Scott felt his heart seize up, when he heard that. And he pulled his brother a little closer.

"Where's Sam?" Alex suddenly wanted to know.

"He was in with Storm, a minute ago– I think he's coming with us."

Alex only nodded, looking pretty blank. Stunned.

"Hey boys, rough day?"

As one, the Summers looked up, and saw Rogue standing there, one eyebrow cocked, hand on her hip.

Scott smiled, wryly. "You could say that. What's up?"

"Word is that there's no way to confirm Transia as their location," she reported, rolling her eyes. "Remy and Kitty have been over and over the data and there's not a trace of any kind of location crap. But I know what I saw, and when we went through the image files from satellites, and all that National Geographic crap, I was sure. I was lookin' at Transia through Riptide's little pea-brain," she wrinkled up her nose, at that, and wrapped her arms around herself.

Pushing himself off the table, he disentangled himself from his brother. It was almost a relief, really– separating himself physically. Right now, he couldn't afford this. There were four or five other problems in this room... and breaking down and telling his kid brother he could never, ever leave the house again (which was exactly what he wanted to do, of course), really wasn't going to help anyone. At least Alex had agreed to just... stay put. Whatever stupid idea he'd had about helping Sam, or helping him...

Not now. Alex could be a hero later. Not this time.

"That's good enough for me, Rogue," he nodded, partially as a simple affirmative gesture, partially to clear his mind. He was just so tired. God, for a minute there, he'd really thought that bastard was going to spear Warren's wing. And he'd been so tangled up... and...

God. Just a hell of a long day.

"And between that and what Jean-Paul told us about the Maximoffs–,"

As if on cue, the door to the room with the Beaubiers opened.

Scott stopped talking. And all three of the teenagers standing in the medlab simply looked, as Jean-Paul stepped, at a perfectly normal speed, out of the room, and closed the door behind himself. Then looked up at them.

Jesus... he was wrecked. His shirt was crooked, his jeans were stained with grass and someone's blood, his hair was in complete disarray, and his eyes... god, he was going to...

Scott swallowed hard, a wave of guilt suddenly crashing over him. Christ, why had he gone and challenged the guy in front of everyone? Why had he added to the problems, when he should've been _helping_. This guy was his friend...

"Xavier says we can't leave until we have confirmation of the location," was all he said, standing there, staring blankly. "Did we get it?"

Scott could _feel_ Rogue freezing up beside him. But finally, she replied, "No, not yet. But I know what I saw."

Jean-Paul simply nodded, and started to walk toward the door. Clenching his jaw.

The effort he was exerting to move slowly, to act like everything was fine, was painful. Scott could feel it, and he knew the other two standing there with him could as well.

And he hadn't said a word about Jeanne-Marie. About the fact that he couldn't touch his own sister. Scott thought of the way he'd just been hugging Alex, and how he would've felt if he couldn't do that... ever. It seemed like such a little thing, but over time, especially for someone like JP...

"Jean-Paul," he heard himself saying, before he even had a chance to think it through, "wait."

JP stopped. Turned, and looked at him with very wet eyes. Pale, even in shades of red. But definitely wet.

Scott opened his mouth to say something else... anything else.

But Jean-Paul beat him to the punch. His upper lip twisted into a sneer, and he simply spat, "Save it."

And then, he was gone.

"Fuck," Rogue sighed, "I'll go after him–,"

"No," Scott shook his head, taking her arm, gently. "I'll go. I owe him big."

She looked back at him, cocking her head. He simply looked back, and gave a quick, short nod. Which she returned.

She understood.

He turned back to Alex, and ruffled his hair, "Behave, alright? I'll be back to take you down to the others when I can, but you're alright up here at the house for now."

Alex just nodded, and tried to smile. Still pale. Obviously scared.

His big brother gave him a smile that he hoped was encouraging and went after Jean-Paul, the huge knot in his stomach getting tighter and tighter.

* * *

**AN:** Right, so this chapter could easily have been merged with the next one, which is kinda the unwinding from this constant bloodshed chapter!

But that would've made it, officially, the longest chapter ever. So I thought I'd spare you. Welcome to blood n guts central, in the meantime! Things are actually moving now, and next chapter is a total landmark– the scene that made me want to write this entire fic in the first place will finally happen! Omgwtfbbq?!

So hey, if you like Jean and/or Warren, do us a favor. Go and read my new fic stuff, which was born of an RP Jen1703 and I started over at Homoinferior. You can find us at ff.n under the penname wingsex and the city. Find the link in my bio ;)

/pimp off

Anyhow, right. Shout outs :D

_Star-of-Chaos_: No Remy/Kitty for you! Wouldn't want you vomiting on my story. That'd just be horrible, obviously! And yeah, writer's block is a bitch. Good luck, and much love!

_Minerva Solo: _"Furiously in love..." Good description. Could our JP be any other way, I wonder?

_Crazyspaceystracey_: Yay for Pyro props! He scares me, because a bad Pyro makes me want to weep. I've seen him done well, and I'll never live up to it, but guh. Thank you so much . Hope it's still enjoyable, and I'm still turning them out! Your faithful reviews mean the world to me.

_Risty: _Mmmm semi-naked hot boys! /Hands you Alex/ Yes, have some! Seriously though, I'm very glad that the Maximoffs didn't drag last chapter (I know, I ignored them here, trust me, they're huge in the next one...)! JM is indeed... strange, to say the least. And yes... Pyro is an odd duck as well. What is it with me and the mentally unstable? At least it's nowhere near my rich playboy problem...

_PomegranateQueen: _I clearly go for the cheese sometimes too (witness the parting of JP and Pietro... I'm so shameless.) Nothing wrong with that! Also, I like the "happy dance." It's one of my faves :D Party on, dude! Party on! ... Too much Wayne's World is a dangerous thing...

_The-M: _I miss you when you're not around. And yes, the swearing pleases me too... obviously... we are shallow creatures together. Bless our Evo!Pietro (Draco Malfoy WHAT?!)

_Eboni: _You printed it and took it with you?! Good god, I'm so flattered right now... Anyhow, enough of that. I'm glad the JP bitchfest was well received, even if it was a bit melodramatic. He _is _melodramatic though, somehow, inside my head, so I can't really help it! God knows I don't own them these days, they own me. Thanks for reviewing!

_DoubleL27: _Happy birthday :D Anyhow! The gas actually... doesn't exist. But that's another story for another time! And Sam will (clearly) be getting his day in the sun soon. You know I can't leave him out... because mmmm... Sam. Thanks for the review babe!

_DemonRogue13:_ Yay for JP pushing Scott! He likes to abuse Cyke, what can I say... it's a sign of affection with him. Or something...

_UniversalAnimeGirl: _Flashlight is, indeed, Aurora. I think that was somewhere in the last fic. Same with Alex's influence on Bobby's lingo– nearly all of the NM boys, in this fic and/or the last, were shown cursing Alex for his influence ;) And yes, power inhibitor bracelets! Much like the collar Mags was shown to be wearing a few chapters back! Oooh and Genosha doesn't even exist in Evo... or DOES it?! ... Okay no, really, it doesn't. But yeah, I think one would do Rogue some good. As for how Wolverine knew about JP having talked to Lance, there is a reason. It will come out later, but it's really not that big of a deal. He's just being Wolverine, let's say.

_Jen1703: _It occurs to me now that I should've thanked you properly there for reading that Scott/Jean bit to make sure I didn't butcher your kids... I suck. Forgive me? Anyhow, sometimes they need to break up. You know. Like, in favor of wingsex... /cough/

_CyberPilate: _Yay, you're back for more! You know, you're right, it is a huge balance– put too much of yourself in and it's a Mary Sue. Too little, and it's simply not believable. I'm going to keep a sharper eye on that, definitely. I'm making Jen read my important Jean moments, so she can let me know if I start to fall victim! (Pity her!) As for the Maximoffs, they got the shaft this chapter, but the next one... ohhh the moment I've wanted forever finally gets written! Yay! The entire reason for this fic! Yes, I was going somewhere with this all along! Joy! And if the last chapter was intense, this one was just... way blown out of the water. Alas, the big moments have yet to come, and this is just buildup. More melodrama to come, sad as it is, but I'll keep trying to splice in some humor, in the future, where I can get it to sound not-so-forced. Definitely keep me in check on that one– I like to go overboard on JP (and oh, I will, I promise. ) He just... bleeds so pretty. It's so hard to resist! And on a side note... that goddamn "You're" in there has been the bane of my existence since I posted. I'm so effing lazy I won't go back and re-upload– the mistake simply got missed by me and Sue... but god it irks me, every time I see that damn chapter now... /twitches/ I'm sure it makes you twitch too... apologies!

_Regret1701:_ ... good lord, I have an acolyte :D I'm so much cooler than Mags. ... or not. But still, woot! Anyhow, there's a dream job... Hey Marvel, you hear that? Hire me, dammit!!!

_Blaze_: I'm sorry, did you just say JP/Pietro pictures...? Guh.

_Relwarc: _Pyro is one of those characters I never got in 616. He was irritating. And god... GOD that costume! Until, oddly enough, he was about to die, and decided to try and redeem himself. In which case, he became quite interesting. So Evo's take on him was a shocker, and the writer in me was instantly intrigued. Jesus... the places to go with what they showed of him! I'm not even getting close to going as deep as I could, obviously (I learned a long time ago on this fic to pick my battles...), but damn... he's fun. I'm so glad he's turning out to be acceptable. I'm paranoid about him, for many, many reasons. But oddly enough, those are often the same reasons I want to write him, these days. I'm glad, above all else, that Scott's reasons for freaking out were clear. He wasn't just being a dick. As much as I want to stab 616!Scott, I don't want that to come out here– I love Evo!Scott, and I think he'd need a very good reason for that kind of behavior. And well... I know if I heard someone was after my kid brother, I'd flip the hell out in short order. And the bit about him having 'Nam-esque flashbacks was hilarious... and depressing. 3 Thanks so much!

_CrimsonObsession_: You know, I thought about doing his PoV. Alas, it's JP's story, so he won. But more Toad to come. Without question ;) Love yer!

_Amura: _Yes, I'm silly enough to have a sequel in mind, god help me. And yes, Alex and Forge's kid would be amazing. He would be victim to the phenomenon Risty and I like to refer to as "shinyhair." You cannot deny its power :D Thanks for reading faithfully, you're amazing!


	14. Truths and White Knights

**Chapter Thirteen: Truths and White Knights**

Even had he predicted this situation, he definitely wouldn't have predicted that it would go _this _way.

Pietro Maximoff was sitting on a cot in the corner, legs crossed in front of him, hands crossed over his belly as he slouched against the wall. Watching his twin sister pace. Like a tiger. Like she was going to explode. Like she was the one with the mutation that made it almost impossible to stop moving.

Which of course, he did. Not that he could tell, at the moment. Considering that he couldn't _feel _his mutation.

And that was fucking freaky. No question.

In the past hour or so (and god, hours moved fast, if it had really been an hour, like Wanda said), he'd kinda gotten used to it. He didn't feel sick anymore.

He just felt retarded. Literally. Slow as fuck, and hating it. He felt so... stupid. So many small things– shifts in the light, ticks in peoples' movement, his own racing metabolism– were all wrong. Everything was wrong, as if he'd been dragged into some doped up fantasy world.

Which, considering the nature of their captivity... wouldn't even surprise him at this point.

He knew what he had to do, of course. And, honestly, now was probably a good time to do it, while Wanda couldn't hex him into next week for what it was he had to tell her. He knew the look on her face too fucking well. She was thinking. And she was pissed. And any minute now, she was going to turn it on him, and he was going to have to tell her, and at least she couldn't kill him right now because they had these stupid bracelets on and if there was any gas then he was the fucking Blob because–

"I hate being trapped." She turned on him, suddenly, crossing her arms in front of her, one hip jutting out, jaw set in determination. "These goddamn walls are pissing me off. They make me nervous. Makes me feel like I'm losing my fucking mind or something."

He watched her for another moment, in silence. A very long moment. And then realized what it was that was bothering her.

Shit. Eight years locked up in an institution. Eight years she didn't even remember, technically. But obviously, something in her did. And if she could still feel that paranoia... what if she just remembered everything? He had to tell her, right?

"Something's been pulling at my mind for months, Pietro," she told him, after that moment of silence. "And I know you know what it is. And you said you'd tell me, back at the Maximoffs'. So tell me."

Deep breath. What if he did? Even if she couldn't hex him, that didn't mean she couldn't kill him, really. Hell, a few months ago, she would've used her bare hands, and he knew it. So if he told her... would she revert? Would she suddenly remember? Would she come after him, right there and then, and then go gunning for Magneto again?

Magneto... god.

Pietro stood, the thought of his father suddenly having lit a fire under him, and walked to the other side of the room to stand in front of her. He already felt like he was living a dream, with castles and magic and all that shit he'd only heard about in stories. Stories he used to love. Now, just– too slow, too surreal. "Okay, Wanda. I'll tell you. But... you gotta promise not to kill me, once we get out of here and get our powers back."

Slowly, she nodded back, "I'll do what I can."

"Wanda... promise. No killing."

She sighed, and her lower lip stuck out in an unconscious pout. "Okay. No killing you. Fine. Now _talk_."

He looked at her for a very long moment, weighing his options. There was the truth. There was the partial truth. And then there were more lies. Honestly... the truth was easier. And... well, he hadn't been lying to her to be mean, this whole time. For one, he was more likely to stay alive, if he lied. And for another, she was honestly better off not remembering. Fuck, Pietro wished _he_ didn't remember, that was for damn sure...

Right. So maybe just... the truth, this time. Not like it mattered-- not like he was really convinced that they would get out and get their powers back.

Might as well die with a clean conscience. Because of all the shit he'd done in his life, all the people he'd hurt, lies he'd told... this one was the only one he'd ever really felt bad about anyhow. It had been hard not to think about it– how things used to be with Wanda, when they were kids. Being back in Transia, near Django and Marya... Dad and Day...

He swallowed hard, and looked away from her, then returned to the bed. He sat, scooted against the wall again, and patted the seat next to him.

She followed, and sat there, where he'd patted. Close to him, but not touching. Wide cobalt eyes, watching him.

Deep breath. Goddamn, time was moving so fast around him. So fucking slow...

"Okay," he started, wincing a bit. "So... remember all that stuff after we left Transia, way back when? Coming to America, living with Magneto? All... whatever it is you remember?"

Her brow furrowed deeply, and her eyes narrowed, just so. "Well, yeah."

Right. And here it comes... "None of that happened."

She just sat, for a moment. Lips slightly parted. Face frozen in a mask of complete confusion and disbelief. He couldn't even imagine what was going through her mind. He wished he could think of more to say, but really... that was it, wasn't it? Nothing she knew, after Transia, was real. Not until Toad had brought her home that day. Nothing.

Fuck. Sucked to be a Maximoff, sometimes.

"What do you mean, it never happened?" she finally managed, voice low and somewhat creaky. Not angry... just... tentative? "I remember it, Pietro–,"

"No," he interjected, knowing damn well he needed to explain this. Fuck, it already sucked so hard for her, having to hear this. Not to mention for _him_ having to explain it... "You _think _you remember it." He looked at her face for another moment, an indefinite amount of time lapsing. Apparently, it wasn't a terrible amount, as she seemed content to let him examine her expression... but he couldn't find anything there. Just... confusion.

On impulse, he reached out, and covered her hand, resting on the bed between them, with his. So much smaller, darker. So much more gypsy.

The kids in the camp had always liked her better. She was pretty, like a gypsy. He remembered that, all too well.

"Back before Apocalypse," he started again, "something happened to you... your memories were... replaced. You remember going snowboarding, when Kurt and Todd showed up? When you forgot why... why you used to be angry at Magneto?"

She made an irritated face now, her nose scrunching up, just like she used to when she was little. "It's not like I _forgot_," she snapped. But then, suddenly, she turned pensive again. Like she'd changed her mind, suddenly. Like she was trying very hard to remember. "I just got over it, eventually. It was just some stupid bitterness thing, I think–," but she was cut off by her own slight wince of pain.

Pietro let out a short breath, and blinked heavily. Fuck. "But you don't remember what kind of thing." It wasn't even a question. "And when you try to remember... it hurts."

Wanda opened her mouth then, red lips at first curling just the tiniest amount, preparing for a sneer... but the blankness of confusion soon returned, and she simply stuttered, "I..."

"What's the first thing you _really _remember?"

Again, her brow furrowed. A slight wince, less noticeable. "Now that you mention it, I remember being really fucking pissed when Todd kissed me. And then Kurt said he'd saved me..."

But Pietro was stuck on the first part. "What?!" That fucking frog had _kissed _his sister?! Oh, no... no he did not. "You never told me–,"

"Oh Christ, Pietro," she rolled her eyes, her hand twitching under his slightly. "I make out with Sam all the time."

"Gah!" He closed his eyes, willing the mental images away. God, it was bad enough he'd had to see it at that club like... whatever. A month or two ago. Did he really need to relive it? "Wanda! Don't make me hurt him–"

Her hand grabbed at his, suddenly, and squeezed. Hard. He gave a slight squeak of pain, and she simply said, "Story."

"Okay," he sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. "But... you believe me?" Because honestly, he wasn't sure she could accept this. Especially not from... well, him. He wasn't exactly known as the most trustworthy human being in the world. Of course, he had absolutely _no _reason to lie to his sister about this. At all. Ever. And really, it was just to fucking bizarre not to be true...

"... I don't know," she hesitated, for a moment. But her hand was still locked into his, and gently. "But everything before... doesn't feel..."

"Right?" he guessed, assuming that wasn't the end of her sentence.

And he was wrong. "No. It just... doesn't feel. At all. Except for–,"

This one, he knew. "Transia."

"Yes."

Fuck. Right. So now he'd come to it... He turned away from her, unable to really look her in the eye while he did this. Because this was the shit... this was the shit he didn't think about. Sure, Magneto cropped up a lot. Sure, he thought about Wanda more than was probably healthy. They were his family, and he was born and raised a gypsy. That was all he really cared about, if he cared about anything at all, after the shit he'd been through.

And yes. Yes, he fucking cared.

But this... Christ. This was the big one. Time was slipping by him, and all he could do was stare straight ahead, at the stone wall of the Citadel that held him captive. And try to think how the fuck to explain this to his sister. Without breaking himself. Or, really, her.

Not that they weren't already broken. Had been for years. But that was just the thing he didn't want to think of.

Numb. He could do numb. Right. Numb.

"When we were nine years old... do you remember anything?"

That pensive expression again. She shook her head, after only a few minutes. "Yes. We... was that when we went to Sea World for our birthday...?"

Pietro felt his eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth fall open. And his eyes start to burn.

Sea World. Fucking Sea World. Why the fuck would they put _Sea World_ in her head?

As if they'd ever been _anywhere _at _all _like Sea World during their entire goddamn captive childhood... "Oh... fuck...," he tried to speak, but found that he was laughing. The kind of laugh that was really just a prelude to crying, and he knew it. "No, Wanda. That's when you manifested."

"I thought we were twelve when we manifested," she argued, "We were in the park."

He shook his head, not laughing anymore, his stomach feeling sick and weak. God... he wished he could just let her think they'd been to Sea World. He'd still never been there.

"At home. Father...," God... god, he had _no _idea how to do this... "We hated it in America. He made us speak English all the time. Kept us inside. We couldn't play with other kids...," A random sampling of the fucked-up-ness that was the few years they'd spent with their father, together. How could he ever really explain it to her? Did he really want to? If she didn't remember, she was better off. She hated walls, just like he did. Why tell her about all of them?

"No," she was shaking her head, and her bangs were falling into her eyes, unchecked. "It wasn't that bad..."

"It was fucking awful," he informed her, matter-of-factly. "We used to cry." No... wait. Wanda hardly ever cried... "I used to cry."

Her confusion lifted, suddenly. And she cocked her head at him, eyes drilling right into him so that he had to turn and face her. And when he did, he really wished he hadn't.

She was looking at him like she knew him.

"You always cried more than me."

He swallowed, hard. "Yeah."

And she just kept... looking at him.

Slow motion. Blinking. His thoughts had no time to collect, before he felt like the pause was awkward. Before he felt like his stomach was twisting faster than he could handle. Before he felt like everything was changing around him, while he sat and watched her watch him.

Finally, he willed himself into action again. Blinked a few times, pulled his eyes off of hers. "So... uh...," fuck... where the _hell _had he been...? "One day, you told him we wanted to go back. And he said no. And... you... made the roof fall on us."

Her eyes went wide, but not with the reaction he'd expected. Her hand gripped at him, furtively, and her eyes appeared to be... misting up. "Pietro... this isn't funny..."

Fucking heart in his throat. "You're fucking telling me?" But he had to keep going now. This was it. This was his one chance to either have her back, or die. And really, he'd always known it was one or the other. "Listen Wanda, you're a _lot _better off not knowing all this. What happened after that was _way _worse."

"Did I hurt you?"

He felt his eyebrows draw down and together, and he considered this, for a moment. _That _was what she was thinking? "Yeah," he said, honestly, "knocked me out. I woke up in the lab. He wouldn't let me see you." God, he'd been so fucking pissed, when his father had told him he couldn't see her... he'd thrown a tantrum, and his father had smacked him, right across the face. Magneto was a bastard, but he rarely ever laid a hand on his children. Told him that men didn't throw tantrums, and he'd have to learn to live his own life. That he couldn't count on her for everything. That he'd be stronger, better, on his own. "He said you were too angry, and he didn't want you...," to kill them all. "Near the lab equipment."

She turned her body now, to face him, throwing her legs over his lap, with her knees high, so that they weren't actually resting on him. It put her face so close to his, he couldn't avoid her eyes anymore. She was so fucking intense, was the thing. And he knew he was too. And he knew he loved people who were. And he knew it was because of her.

But that didn't make him stop hating it as much as he loved it.

"What happened to us?"

Again, Pietro looked forward, at the wall, in a vain attempt to avoid her stare. Didn't matter. He could feel it, just the same. "You... he...," fuck. Fuck he did _not _need to relive this moment... he'd never really said this shit aloud. Sorta, with JP, but not like... _this_. Not to _her_. "He had you locked up. Said you couldn't control it. They took you into the hospital..."

Fuck. She'd cried then. Cried and screamed for them to take her back with them. He could still hear her. It still made him shiver, the sound of her voice, begging them not to leave her.

He slumped, bonelessly, and his head hit the stone wall behind him. He barely felt it.

"The hospital...," her voice was so shaky, the words so brittle. It was like she didn't even understand what they meant. She was just repeating sounds he'd made. Sounds that meant nothing to her. He glanced in her direction, and saw that her face was wet.

Jesus. "I couldn't get in," he tried to explain, helplessly, watching her cry. He didn't even think she noticed that she was. Tears were just rolling down her cheeks. Unchecked. No sobbing, no nothing. Just crying. "I didn't have my powers yet. I... I stopped talking to everyone. I couldn't stop him...," Fuck. What the _hell _was he even talking about? He didn't want to relive this but he had to but why was he telling her how he had _felt_?

"From what?" She asked, eyes catching his again, forcefully.

His mouth worked for a moment. And then he replied, "from leaving you." What else would he stop him from...?

"Wait," she blinked, dark eyebrows drawing down and in, as if in confusion. "Our father left me in a fucking... insane asylum," she hissed the words, as if they were poison, "when we were nine?"

He nodded, blinking hard. Fuck, his eyes were burning.

"And you stopped talking?"

Again, he nodded. God, that had sucked. He hadn't thought about it in ages, but he had refused to speak for a good six months after that, at least. He really wasn't sure how long... and he only started again because he was pretty sure Magneto was going to kill him if he didn't. "He was really pissed," he offered, lamely.

She still looked confused. Not like he could blame her, at this point. "And I... I didn't hex him?"

"No," he shook his head, and squeezed her hand again. Because this was the worst part... "You just... cried. I couldn't...," ah fuck. He was choking now. The words wouldn't come, because he was fucking choking on them. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. "I just stood there. That's why you hate me."

Wanda took a deep breath, chest rising and falling once, slowly. But her eyes never left his, and she said, "I don't hate you."

"You do," he informed her, thinking of all the times she'd hexed the crap out of him. Used him as bait for their father. Tried to kill them both for leaving her there. And really, they'd deserved it, so not like he could blame her. "You just don't remember."

Shaking slightly, she moved a little closer to him. He let go of her hand, and put an arm around her, and she leaned her head on it. He really couldn't believe that she could stand to touch him, at the moment... but maybe it was just because she didn't remember. If she remembered, really... he'd be dead. But this was so much better. It was kinda like getting her back. Almost. Sorta. "What happened to me in there?"

He sighed again, and slumped a little more. "You just... got angry. Magneto sent me back to the Maximoffs. He said it was too dangerous at the house. Marya and Django bought the house then. Settled down for me. And I was a dick."

The small laugh she gave at that was extremely gratifying. Her face was still wet, but she was curled up around him, and it almost felt right. So he didn't move. He just prayed to a god he knew damn well wasn't there that it wouldn't change. Not yet.

"I made them send me back on exchange, when I was sixteen," he continued the story. "Mystique busted you out of the hospital after I found father... or he found me, anyhow."

"How'd he find you?"

Pietro wrinkled up his nose at the memory. "I was in jail. X-Men."

That was all the explanation she needed. "And I was with Mystique?"

"Yeah," he nodded slightly, "She brought you to kill Magneto."

"Oh my god," she seemed to freeze, in his arms.

Hm. Maybe telling her she'd been used as a weapon against her own family could've been handled in a more sensitive manner... but then, Pietro had never been accused of being sensitive. That was for fucking sure. "Yeah... you weren't real excited about me, either."

She sat up now, and looked him in the eye again. "You never came back for me."

He felt his eyes widen, and fought an urge to shrink away from her. His stomach dropped, and his eyes burned even worse. Fuck. This was _exactly _what he'd known would happen... "No! I did!" he insisted. "I fought the Maximoffs till they sent me back! I begged them... but you'd been in there six years, Wanda. And I couldn't get in. I... I used to watch for you sometimes..."

And he had. When he'd first come back, he'd make it a point to go by... to stand near to the hospital... to watch the windows, the doors...

Fuck. Felt like ages ago. And then he'd finally seen her, and she... wasn't his Wanda anymore. She was just... scary. Really fucking scary.

He watched as her face went from stony and wet, to slightly pink. She took one shaky breath... and started to cry in earnest. Her body rocked slightly, as she tried to breathe, but she was sobbing now. It was a lost cause.

Pietro squeezed his eyes shut, to avoid a similar fate. One of them had to be okay. He knew that much, instinctively. He put his hand in her hair, and pulled her closer, his cheek to her wet one. Jesus.

She moved now, to face him, and threw her legs over his, perpendicular, so that she could put both arms around him. It occurred to him at that point that he was actually being... a brother. Like that thing he'd seen JP do, where he'd kissed her forehead. And it was pretty goddamn sad that it had taken a complete breakdown to make him do it, really. They used to be so good together. Wanda and Pietro. "Fuck, Wanda," he whispered, "Please, don't. I seriously, I'm sorry. I should've... I was... he..."

"Shut the fuck up," she thumped his chest with one hand. "What were you supposed to do, take on Magneto when you were nine years old?"

Honestly... "I guess."

She pulled away now, and the look in her eyes was actually angry, through the tears. "Shut up."

He blinked. And almost laughed, for some reason. She just looked... so young. Pink-cheeked and wet-eyed and confused as hell. She looked like Wanda.

"No," she suddenly changed her mind. "Tell me why all I remember are stupid picnics and birthdays... and they're barely in color."

Ugh. More... she still hadn't heard the end. Jesus. He leaned back, again, his face still wet from hers, and let his head hit the wall again. But he kept one arm around her. Just in case. "You believe me?"

"I... yeah," she admitted, still sobbing, just slightly. But mostly, it looked like the worst was over. "It explains... a lot."

"Okay," he took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Things were getting blurry. Fuck, why did she have to go and _cry_? "So eventually, you trying to kill father got old. So... he kinda... lured you to Mt. Arrowrose."

She didn't reply for a moment. And he didn't look at her. He kept looking at the wall.

"No," she finally spoke, "Todd followed me there. I just wanted to go snowboarding, and Pyro showed up and... wait..."

"No," he stopped her. "He used Pyro to lure you there, since you were trying to kill him. And when he got you there, he brain-fried you. He used some dude to change your memories."

Her hand was suddenly clutching at his shirt, near his waist. Tight. Balling it up. "If you're fucking with me..."

He looked over at her now, and simply stared. "Why?" he asked, flat, after a moment of meeting her suddenly bright-eyed, but seriously angry gaze. "Why the fuck would I lie to you here, now? I wish you could keep thinking he took us to Sea World. I wish _I _thought that, goddammit. Look, when we get back, ask Todd. Or Fuzz Butt."

"Why didn't you _say_ something?" She slammed her hand into his chest again, the tears having stopped completely now.

"You wanted to _kill _me!" he squeezed her shoulders, but he knew his voice was rising about an octave. This was just insane... not that he could really blame her but... goddamn! "You nearly killed Magneto!"

Not that he should care, at the moment. The man had fucked him over enough, right? He wanted to get away from him, not to be like him, never to have to go back to him... and he knew damn well he would, if his father asked...

"Fucking serve him right!" Wanda exploded, thumping his chest again, this time somewhat painfully, then latching on to his shoulder.

He only sighed, however. Cause she was absolutely right. "I know. But... Wanda, believe me," he shook his head, "I hate him. You know I was glad, when we thought he was dead. All he's ever done is use us. And I keep... I..."

_I keep going back to him._

Fuck.

She looked at him for a moment, her face returning to its normal pale tones, and then nodded, slowly. She understood. "You always did care what he thought. When we were little."

He closed his eyes. He had. He'd always been the one who was afraid to displease him, afraid to upset him... she'd always been the one who wasn't afraid. "It was a lot harder not to, without you," he admitted, as the thought entered his mind. He hadn't really considered it before but... damn. It was true. Maybe if she'd been there, none of that would've happened... "You're the big sister."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Pietro," she sounded a little mad again. But halfheartedly. "What the fuck did he do to us?"

"What _didn't _he do," he retorted, with equally halfhearted bitterness. "That'd be a good place to start."

Silence then. Again, he couldn't judge for how long. Time... it just ticked away so quickly for everyone. How did they deal with it– the feeling that they were losing so much of their lives, so quickly? How had he dealt with it... before he'd known? It seemed to him that he should always have known. He'd always been Quicksilver, somehow, hadn't he?

No. No, he was just... tired. And time was slipping through his fingers. And he didn't care, because she was here. "So, you don't want to kill me?"

"You? No," she replied, resting her head on the arm she still had around his neck, once again. "Him? Yes. But first... we have to get the fuck out of here."

He leaned his head on hers, and yet another sigh escaped him. "Fuck... I'm so sorry Wanda."

He'd said it a long time ago. After they'd gotten him out of that prison Sinister had kept him in with Jeanne-Marie Beaubier. Before he'd ever thought they could be friends with the X kids. Before Jean-Paul had changed everything. He'd said he was sorry, then. And he meant it for all the same things, now.

"Me too," she told him.

"I wish it had been me."

"The asylum? Or the mindwipe?"

Pietro closed his eyes. And said, "Yes."

She slid her arms down, around his waist, and put her head on his shoulder. She smelled like sandalwood, vaguely. Her face was wet and hot against his neck. He let his head rest on top of hers, and flicked her overgrown bangs away from her eyes.

It didn't feel _quite _right. Not like when they used to fall asleep together, when they were prisoners of their own father. There was something huge between them now. Years between them. But that was nothing new. That had been there since she'd gotten out of the hospital.

Strange, however. Now that she knew why that _thing _was between them... it didn't seem like the years had been quite so long anymore. Didn't seem so... unfixable. So maybe... if they ever got the fuck out of here... they'd be alright again. Now that they'd admitted to everything.

The idea almost made him giggle. Just a little.

Instead, he sighed. Jesus, he was so literally retarded right now. If this was what being "normal" was like... he'd rather die.

Of course... it was looking like they might.

He hugged Wanda a little tighter, and she shifted against him, letting him pull her close. This wasn't like her. And it wasn't like him.

But it was, really. And no one had to know but them.

So he leaned his head back against the wall. And tried to breathe evenly.

Dying was going to suck. He'd really miss JP.

* * *

When he'd left the room, Jeanne-Marie had been crying.

And all he'd wanted to do was hold her.

But he couldn't. Ever again. Because every time he touched her, now, they would black out. Every. Time.

Jean-Paul couldn't cry. His eyes were burning and his throat was tight. When he'd seen Scott, Alex, and Rogue standing there, staring at him as he'd exited the room, he'd honestly thought he was going to, right there and then. Dissolve into a sobbing puddle in front of all his friends and be forced to commit ritual suicide out of shame.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, reliving the painful, fresh memory, still scraped raw, and put his face in his hands with a shaky sigh. God, he'd wanted to kill Xavier when the old man had told him the "clues" about Transia weren't good enough, and they wouldn't be leaving immediately. If not for Jeanne-Marie sobbing beside him, he probably would have. It was so painful that she was right next to him... and still the furthest away she'd ever been. Crying, hugging herself, asking him over and over again to forgive her.

Naturally, he'd said he did. But she couldn't feel him anymore, couldn't tell if he did or not, like she usually could. And he couldn't touch her, couldn't hug her and comfort her as he usually did. So why should she believe him?

It actually, physically hurt. Like he'd been gutted. Like something was missing from his stomach. It ached and it was so empty inside...

He'd said that he forgave her.

But he wasn't sure he _could, not _really. All he could think, over and over, was "How _could _she?" All of this, for what? For the experiments of some doctor in Ottawa? For some invented peace of mind for her alternate personalities? _Why?_What was so fucking important that she would choose _it _over _him_?

Logically, he knew she hadn't done anything of the sort.

But his eyes burned, and his stomach ached. And god, he was just. So. Alone.

Someone knocked at his door. And he ignored it, of course. He hadn't bothered to lock it, but no one would dare to open his door without invitation–

He heard the door swing open.

Correction. _Someone _would.

He didn't bother looking up, even then, however. Only one person had the balls, or the stupidity, to do it. He knew who it was. He _wanted _to tell him to fuck off. Ask him if causing him to completely flip out in the meeting earlier hadn't been enough for Scott. Hit his "team leader" square on the jaw, like he had the first time Jeanne-Marie had been taken from him...

But he didn't. He just sat, covering his face, trying to breathe, as he heard his friend's footsteps coming closer. Jean-Paul's heart was pounding in his ears, a desperate urge to fight, to cry, to run building up in him. He felt the bed shift under him as Scott sat– just close enough so that their knees wouldn't touch.

Jean-Paul squeezed his eyes shut and suppressed a sigh. For some reason, this visit already bothered the fuck out of him. He was sick of people being careful with him. Sick of... everything.

"Hey."

Jean-Paul opened his eyes, at that, scoffing. _Hey_. How very... masculine. How Fearless Leader. How utterly infuriating.

"Hey, man," Scott surprised him by nudging him with his arm, leaning into him for a moment, "You okay?"

Okay? Did he _look _okay? Jean-Paul wound his fingers tightly in his own hair, and tried to keep from screaming, from flying, from kissing him, hitting him. Anything. Something. Surely, this was what it felt like to be mad. Desperate. Losing the battle.

"Jean-Paul...," he tried again, voice quiet and careful. Normally, by this time, the insults would have been flying. It was simply how they dealt with one another. Something very like this had happened once before, a long time ago. Months like years. "You're going to explode."

An almost silent, extremely bitter laugh escaped him, and he finally looked up, hand dropping to hang lifelessly between his knees, elbows still on his thighs. He didn't even look at Scott– didn't know if he could. And not because he was angry about the meeting. The meeting meant fuck all.

He wasn't even sure why he couldn't look at him, exactly. But he knew that wasn't it. He just couldn't. He just... hurt.

"_Oui_," he breathed, finally.

"Better to do it here, now, with me. Not when we're in Transia fighting Sinister."

Jean-Paul felt his mouth curl up in derision. Ah, _oui_, because it certainly looked like they'd be shipping out at _any _moment now... "What do you want me to say, Scott?" he hissed, so bitter he could taste it. He knew his accent would be heavy, knew his voice sounded strained and thick with emotion. But he couldn't stop it now. "Do you want me to cry now? Do you want to hear what you already know?"

"I _don't_ know," the answering emotion in the other boy's voice surprised him. "That's the thing, man, you haven't talked to anyone since..."

A deep breath, and Jean-Paul covered his face again, with one hand, his head pounding, stomach aching. Since Pietro had gone.

"Seriously," his voice dropped a little deeper, even more sincere now. "Stop fighting it. Fuck it, Jean-Paul, it's just me."

He dropped his hand, sneering at the wall before him. Oh, how very touching. It's just me. You can talk to me, Jean-Paul. "You sound like Jean."

A quick, irritated release of breath from Scott announced just how aggravating that particular rebuttal had proven. "_You _sound like Pietro."

"Fuck you, Summers," he choked on the words.

The horrible part was that Scott was right. That trick of Pietro's, pissing people off so they'd leave him alone, let him have his way... Jean-Paul was pulling that right now. Jesus, but... he didn't really even _want_ Scott to leave, was the thing. He just... he...

"Don't be a dick, Jean-Paul," the older boy's voice was returning to its usual tone now, with the welcome addition of their usual surface animosity in the words. And it somehow put the speedster slightly more at ease. "Goddammit, you're broken. Just break and get it over with. This is insane."

His resolve melted, and he felt it dripping out of him. But he stood, suddenly needing to move, to distance himself from his friend. "What should I say?!" His voice was louder than he'd meant it to be, when he spoke, but he had no control. It was about to start falling out of him, and there was nothing he could do. Every word hurt, already. In a wonderful way. "That I... that I don't know where he is and he could be... gone and I'll never know if I was right to keep my word?" He stopped walking when he reached the wall, and turned, finally meeting Scott's eyes through ruby shades. His friend's gaze was unwavering as he sat, listening. "That I'm...," Jean-Paul pushed out through his teeth, wanting to keep going, needing to get _something _out, now that he'd begun, "that she... I can't even..."

_I can't even hold my own sister, the only person I've ever loved, while she cries for me._

__But he choked again, and his eyes were wet. The image of Scott sitting on his bed in a white t-shirt, stained with someone's blood, blurred.

"Yeah," Scott nodded, once. "That. All of it."

Jean-Paul balled up his fists, trying not to shake. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to want it to. He blinked hard, and tried again. "Can you change it, if I tell you that right now, I have nothing and no one? That for years, I never knew what I was missing, so it didn't matter? And now I do and..."

_Dieu_, he hated himself for this. Who needs love when you have fame? He'd known it was missing, back then. But he hadn't known what it meant, really. Hadn't known anything. And now here he was, spilling out his blood for Scott Summers. All over him. All over the floor. He hated it and it hurt, but _chrisse_, what could he do...?

"We'll get him back," Scott informed him, in definite leader-voice. Honestly. He truly _believed _what he was saying.

Fuck, he wanted him back. And her. Both so far away. And it was even _more _painful, the distance between him and Jeanne-Marie, than the distance between him and Pietro.

Because she was just downstairs.

He wrapped his arms around himself and drew a shaking breath, trying to calm his heart, to force it out of his throat. He gripped his own arms hard, and blinked tears away again, refusing to let them fall. He was bleeding enough for Scott. Even if it did hurt this good. It was too much. "I can't feel her anymore."

The other boy's eyebrows raised, slowly, and he leaned forward on the bed. "Hell... at all?"

"Just a little," he shook his head, trying to explain things as best he could, through the unfamiliar confusion that clouded his mind. "But honestly, it's more like I can feel that she's _not _there. At first, I thought she was shutting me out. But she isn't... we keep trying, not even thinking about it. She's just...," again, he stopped. Choking. Fuck, but he couldn't. Too much.

"Jesus, man," Scott's eyes were wide, his face pained. He obviously hadn't considered that aspect of their powers and how it would be affected by this... genetic fuck-up she'd been a party to. It was strangely gratifying, the understanding, the sympathetic pain, dawning on his face. Gratifying and infuriating, all at once. "I had no idea."

Still hugging himself, Jean-Paul leaned back against the wall, letting his head thump against it dejectedly. "My whole life," he tried to explain, "I never...," had anyone, loved anyone, felt anything like her. "Everything changed, with her... I suddenly understood why I was so..."

"Alone," Scott finished for him, blessedly.

Jean-Paul let out a sigh of relief. He couldn't _say _certain things. He'd wanted to... but god, he hated himself for loving this release.

"I know man," the other boy nodded, standing and starting toward him now. "I remember, after I lost Alex."

Of course... he hadn't considered... but Scott had lost Alex once, for a very long time. Completely different circumstances, but still fundamentally similar. Jean-Paul's stomach jerked, as Scott stopped, two feet before him, eyes locked to his. Without really thinking, words began to spill out again. "I didn't know why before. Now, I know. And... there's a wall between us... but it's glass. I can see her. But I can't feel her, touch her. She might as well be something I imagined." Fuck. He could barely squeeze the words past the lump in his throat, and Scott was blurring again. His eyes were burning and he hated the sound of his own voice in his head, thick and forced– hated the sound of the words he wasn't able to stop until speaking had become a physical impossibility...

"It's okay man," Scott reached out, lay a warm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Keep going."

Jean-Paul closed his eyes at the touch, and hugged himself tighter. "I don't want to keep going," he mustered one last round of bitterness, for that. But his heart wasn't in it. "I just want to forget," he finished, weakly.

"You can't forget," Scott squeezed his shoulder, and Jean-Paul opened his eyes, searching his friend's face, desperate for what he saw there, as shameful as he felt it was. "Jeanne-Marie is still your sister."

"Is she?" he snarled. Certainly didn't _feel _like it.

Scott actually winced, at that. "She _is_. And we'll get Pietro back."

And then, he did something remarkable. He took his hand from Jean-Paul's shoulder, and sort of... spread his arms, just slightly, turning his palms upward. Hands held out to him.

There was no hesitation. Jean-Paul stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around the other boy, one around his neck, one around his waist. He was almost surprised when Scott did the same, the hand that had been on his shoulder sliding back over it, and coming to rest on his back, the other arm locking around his waist.

It wasn't a man-hug. Nothing quick, nothing awkward– separated hips, bump chests, pat-pat.

No. It was a real hug. Scott and Jean-Paul, breathing against each other. Warm and solid and fuck, he was going to cry. He tried not to shake, released a breath that sounded more like a sob, into Scott's neck. Jesus, but he felt good. Jean-Paul reached up just a little more, clutched at Scott's hair, holding him too tightly. Needing it too much.

And Scott, again, to his surprise, let him. The older boy tightened his grip around Jean-Paul's waist, not even a hint of shying away.

Jean-Paul knew his face was wet, but couldn't care. Fuck, he needed this. Needed to feel someone like this, needed to touch someone. It had been so long. He buried his face in Scott's hair, vaguely noticing that he hadn't had it cut in months, breathed into him with an almost disturbing amount of affection in the action. Normally, he would never have allowed it. Would never have wanted it. But he smelled like clean sweat and blue shampoo... felt strong, like he was holding him up... and god. So. Warm.

He would have kissed him right there and then. If Scott Summers hadn't been the Straightest Man on Earth, he really would have. God knew, he was dying to, at the moment. Never before, probably never again. Just here, feeling slightly mad and clinging.

"Jesus, Jean-Paul," Scott breathed, sounding almost shaky himself. Perhaps he understood the significance of the action, of this exchange. Perhaps he felt it, understood Jean-Paul's need as deeply as he hoped. But even if he didn't... couldn't... it didn't matter. It was close enough. It was more than he'd expected. "If Xavier doesn't ship us out in eight hours, once everyone has gotten some rest... we'll go."

Ah... god. Surely he didn't mean... Jean-Paul swallowed hard, squeezed his eyes shut to stop the flow of tears. Weak. Shameful. God, why wouldn't it stop? He pulled back a bit, out of the warm safety of the embrace, but kept one hand on Scott's shoulder, the other resting at his hip. Not clutching at him _quite _so fiercely. But unwilling to give it up, completely. A deep breath, a long look. Eyes behind red sunglasses, unwavering. A deep breath, and he leaned forward, put his forehead against Scott's. Felt him breathe. Felt him. "We?"

"You and me," he confirmed, breath hot on Jean-Paul's face. He made no move. The speedster was almost certain that Scott had no idea what was "okay," in this situation. Had he ever been so _close _to another boy before? Would he think anything of the fact that he was right now? But he felt good, seemed to acquiesce to Jean-Paul's demands without protest. Didn't pull away. Stayed close. Jean-Paul wouldn't forget. "We can both pilot the X-Jet."

Telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. And could never happen, obviously. Scott would never disobey the Professor. Never be so... reckless. The younger boy closed his eyes again, and choked out, "Scott, don't–,"

"No joke," Scott's hand returned to his shoulder now, squeezed it. Jean-Paul could still feel him breathing as he spoke. "I swear, okay?"

The speedster pulled back a little more, leaving a small space between them, knowing that he couldn't hold a discussion on the beautiful insanity of this idea while he was clinging like a child. He took his hand from Scott's shoulder, and ran it over his own face, hoping to dry it off, so he wouldn't look quite so ridiculous. He looked Scott in the eye again, as the other boy let him go, returned his arms to his side. But Jean-Paul kept that hand at his hip, just at the waist of Scott's jeans.

"Why?" he asked, once he'd managed to compose himself enough to be sure he wouldn't choke on the word.

"Because it's right," Scott's eyes were still unwavering, sincere behind their red screens. "We need to move, now. They got the first move, but we came out on top. We need to end it, now. It's too dangerous not to. And man," the corners of his mouth twitched upward now, in a not quite smile. "I'd do it anyhow."

_Dieu_, but he wanted to kiss this man.

Instead, he leaned into him again, resting his head on Scott's shoulder. Pretending not to notice that his face was wet, once more.

Scott put his arms around him, and rubbed his back just a little awkwardly.

It didn't matter. He loved him for it, just the same.

"Okay," he whispered, sighing. "Okay, Jean-Paul."

He tried to breathe deeply. He tried to relax. He tried to tell himself how utterly embarrassing this would be in the morning.

The last one came the closest to composing him, finally.

After a few moments, he managed to get himself under control, and stood up straight, taking a step backward, and wiping at his face with the back of his hand. "You tell _anyone_..." he left the half-hearted threat open.

Scott smiled, putting his hands in his pockets. Looking a little rumpled, but none the worse for wear, really. "Don't worry man, my reputation is at stake too."

Jean-Paul meant to smile, but was fairly certain that it looked more like a grimace. Christ, he felt ridiculous. But he'd needed that... badly. "You're now queer by association."

The smiled didn't leave his friend's face for a moment. "I've been called worse by nicer people, JP."

He wanted to laugh. But it came out more like a residual sob. Come to think of it, Scott's shoulder did look just a little wet... and there he was, standing there, smiling at him.

"Need another hug?"

At that, he actually managed a fair approximation of a smirk. "It might make you gay."

"You're good-looking, man," Scott grinned, genuinely. "But not _that _good-looking."

Another sob of a laugh, and Jean-Paul suddenly felt much better about his almost insuppressible urge to kiss his friend, not five minutes ago. "Bloody shame, really."

Scott shook his head, still grinning, and Jean-Paul started to smile back. It almost felt normal, after that, somehow. This was the first thing, in fact, that had felt normal since Pietro had left.

He made a mental note to take Scott out and get him hopelessly fucked up, as a thank you. As soon as they won this fucking war. "Actually," he admitted, "I could use another."

"Thought so."

* * *

Magneto had fought for an hour.

Even without his powers, he'd given Sinister a hard enough time to be admirable. Acceptable.

But, inevitably, Sinister had won. And if Magneto wouldn't cooperate willingly... he'd _make _him cooperate.

The fools had failed. The Marauders couldn't even take the X-Men out two at a time. He'd have to do this his way, as usual. And they'd be here soon, assuming they were smarter than the average house pet. Which meant he needed to be ready.

He couldn't wait for Magneto to break any longer. He hadn't come this far to fail now.

"Are you sure it will augment my powers well enough," The Sniveler, as Sinister had come to think of him, questioned.

He looked down at the waif of a man– recruited through Magneto's own memories of him. Mastermind had jumped at the opportunity for retribution, initially. But now, seeing his former oppressor strapped to a metal table in nothing but his underwear, he was balking.

And to think, he'd assumed that taking away the helmet and cape would make the man _less _impressive.

"The design itself was thought of by Magneto, and improved upon by me. Do you doubt me?"

The Sniveler shook his head, and picked up the headgear that, once activated, would push his powers to the point where he could actually force his way into Erik Lensherr's mind. Of course, Sinister knew full well the thing worked. He'd built it the moment he'd first seen it, in Magneto's mind– only in a much bulkier, ridiculous form. It pushed the evolution of the X-gene, in Lensherr's version. This one worked purely on the mind. He'd used it with Magda, which was how she'd been able to reach the children all the way in America, with the capabilities provided by the X-gene she was not even aware of possessing.

Of course, his science was infallible. And once he had Magneto, he'd have his X-Men. And then, the experiments could begin in earnest.

* * *

Erik opened his eyes, and the lights were like daggers into his brain. Something in him fought, forced him to keep his eyes open. He tried to move, but his wrists were clamped down by cold metal. He reached inside, for the power he knew was there. But couldn't find it.

And then, he remembered. The procedure, to augment his powers. Essex was helping him to evolve his powers to the next stage. He'd been in Transia a week now, working with the other man, hoping to find a way to fast-forward his evolution...

Fast-forward...

Shouldn't Pietro be arriving soon? Erik felt as if he hadn't seen his children in years. They'd been so busy with school in the United States, and he in his pursuit of Mutagenics knowledge...

Finally, the room came into focus, as his eyes adjusted to the clinical light, so at odds with the stone walls and floors of Essex's underground laboratory. There was Essex, tall, broad, as a steely vampire. Red eyes blazing. And Magda.

His wife.

"How are you feeling, Lensherr?" Essex inquired. His hollow tones were so oddly unsuited to conversational topics. Health, the weather. It sounded... off, somehow.

But, honestly, Erik felt, "Quite well. I think we can do away with the restraints now."

The other man nodded, and pressed a button on the console nearby. A hydraulic hiss, and his ankles and wrists were free. Erik rose to sitting, the cold metal of the table chilling the backs of his thighs. His hands went instinctively to his neck, to the metallic inhibitor collar there. The thing made his skin crawl... but considering the nature of his powers, and the fact that the laboratory was mostly metal... it was a necessary evil today. Should their attempts at power acceleration have created a surge in his magnetic capabilities...

But now, it was over. And he wanted the horrible thing _off_. He tapped at it, with his index finger.

Essex nodded again, and came to him, passing a tiny pedkey before the collar to release it.

The moment it unsnapped, Erik caught it with his power, feeling it race through his entire body as he flexed it, like the iron in his blood. He floated it away... and then crunched the collar at once, into a small ball of scrap.

It fell to the ground with a clatter.

But Erik shook his head, raising his eyes to his partner's. A small waste, that, but he felt that much better for having gotten his revenge on the thing. However... it had also proven to him that they had failed in their experiment, today. "We were unsuccessful. My powers feel the same."

Essex only said, "Perhaps some another day."

"We will not stop trying," he nodded, in return.

His gaze shifted now to his wife. She was a mutant too, a weaver of dreams, with the psionic capabilities to enter the mind of a sleeping person, and change what they saw there. He'd met her when the small Transian village she worked as a seamstress in had tried to burn her alive for being a gypsy witch.

Which she was, of course.

And he'd loved her for it.

She looked frightened now, however. He offered her a smile, and stood, padding on his bare feet over the cold stone floor. He stopped, not two feet in front of her, watching her face, her large dark eyes, carefully.

Fear. Her body shrunk from him, but she didn't step away. Her pretty face seemed frozen, far too pale. Her eyes met his, for a mere second. And then looked away.

He reached out, cupped one cool cheek with his hand, tilted her face up to his.

Still as beautiful as the day they'd met. Always by his side. Her remembered his first breakthrough– how she'd been with him that day, how they'd celebrated. He'd been... well, he assumed he'd been happy. The memories seemed quite faded... watercolor-ish. But he was smiling in them. He knew that much.

Why was she afraid now? Had they fought, yesterday evening?

No... no, they'd had dinner together. Had they been irritated with one another...?

He couldn't remember, exactly.

But surely he'd remember if it had gone badly. So perhaps she was only worried.

"I am fine, Magda," he told her, running his thumb gently along the ridge of her fine cheek bone. "You should not worry so much."

Briefly, she closed her eyes. She looked so much like Wanda, when she closed her eyes.

"I know, Erik."

"The children will be here soon," he nodded, pulling his hand back now, as her eyes opened. He was very much looking forward to seeing them. Their willingness to help in the research here in Essex's laboratory meant... that perhaps they had some interest in their parents, again.

"We'll be a family again?"

He smiled, "Of course."

* * *

Scott Summers was furious. Furious, frustrated, depressed, and slightly sick to his stomach. As if fucking up JP's day a little more, then having that bastard (who, as it turned out, was called Scalphunter, of all things) get within five feet of Alex hadn't been enough...

Damn, he felt for Jean-Paul. The guy was impossible, of course. He was rude, he was arrogant, he was obnoxious and he was completely unapologetic for any of it. And there was no one else, possibly barring Jean Grey, that Scott would rather have at his back during a fight. There was no one else he knew had the same exact sense of loyalty he did, when it came to particular things.

Jean-Paul was his friend, and yeah, he loved him. And seeing him like that...

The last fucking straw. That's what it was.

This was ridiculous. Sitting here, stationary targets for Sinister and his potato-heads. They'd waited far too long, and now Bobby, John, Remy, and Warren were injured, and the mansion had been compromised. Too long.

It needed to end.

He reached the Professor's door, and raised his hand to knock, knowing full well that it wouldn't be necessary. It never had been. But he did it every time.

_Come in, Scott_, rang through his head. Just as he'd known it would.

Scott pulled the heavy oak door open and did as he was told. He stepped inside the dimly lit office, trying to keep his breathing even. The Professor didn't deserve his anger. But he had to know. This wouldn't wait. And it shouldn't have waited this long. He closed the door behind him and moved to stand just before Xavier's desk, meeting the tired, concerned eyes of his mentor straight on.

"Professor, we need to move."

The older man's initial hesitation said it all. Scott had been raised by Charles Xavier for nearly half his life. He knew what the slight wrinkle around his eyes meant, the barely-there tightening of his lips. He'd already made up his mind. And Scott wouldn't like the verdict. "Scott, please–,"

"No," he interrupted the man, for the first time in his life, as far as he could remember. He knew his tone was measured, level. Serious. This wasn't about wanting his own way, or being a brat. "This is important."

Slowly, Xavier nodded, eyes narrowing, but not in anger. In curiosity. "Alright. Go ahead." His voice was encouraging, but without enthusiasm for the interview.

Just like Scott's. He'd learned from the best, after all.

Time to make his case. "The Marauders are injured– they hopped home on three legs. We know where they are, generally, and we have the equipment and focus to work out the details on-site. If we wait, it gives them time to regroup. If we go, we're still partially unexpected. They don't know for sure that we know about Transia."

For that, he had to silently thank Pietro Maximoff. If he hadn't told Jean-Paul...

"Scott," Xavier cut into his thoughts, sounding careful, shaking his head just slightly. "_We _don't even know–,"

Again, he cut his teacher off. But this time, he knew his frustration was bleeding out, into his voice. "_I _know. Northstar knows."

"His emotions are confusing him."

For a moment, Scott simply blinked. This argument... it made absolutely no sense. Sure, Pietro was a bitch. But no way he was just talking crap to JP... Scott clenched his jaw, trying to rid himself of the desperate feeling of Jean-Paul Beaubier clinging to him like a little kid who'd lost everything he had in the world. Tried to think about it objectively.

What reason did Xavier have to disbelieve? It couldn't have been the Marauders– Rogue had gotten a headful of Riptide, and visually confirmed Transia. Once the guy woke up, they could even ask him themselves– if he had enough of a brain to know. Or Xavier could go into his head himself– dangerous, but the possibility was there. It couldn't be that he was just _afraid_. The Professor had sent them into worse, with far less at stake. It _had _to be the Quicksilver connection. Xavier didn't trust Pietro... it was the only explanation– and would explain the comment about Jean-Paul's emotions.

But _why? _What was he worried about?

His irritation reaching new heights, Scott furrowed his brow, and gave up. This was just insane. Their objective was clear, their target was known. "No offense, Professor, but are you blind? Pietro wasn't lying to Jean-Paul. We've sat here too long, and they got the first move. And if we have one more damn ExGen conference, we're all going to explode." With that, he thumped one hand on Xavier's desk, for emphasis. The sound surprised him, slightly. Made his stomach jump. But he was on a roll now. "We know who it is, we know where they are, we need to take them out before this gets any more out of hand."

Again, Xavier shook his head. "One more day, to finish going over the data– if we find nothing, I will enter the Marauder's mind and extract what information we need– assuming he has it. We must be certain the Institute is safe, before we leave, and we have no plan of action until we have a site. Would you take your team into the field without one?"

"I'll come up with one," he practically growled, through his teeth. Xavier was just dancing around this, refusing to give him a real reason. He knew it.

"Scott–," he held up a placating hand.

"No, Professor," he was surprised at how grim his voice sounded. It reminded him of another time he'd thought he was bucking his mentor, in fact. And it hadn't turned out to be his mentor at all. Not quite as ridiculous a situation, not quite so out of character for Xavier as it had been back then... but he felt just as angry. "You're wrong this time. This doesn't make any sense– what are you afraid of?"

Now, Xavier was the one who took a breath. "You're right– I'm not certain that we can believe Pietro Maximoff. He has a history of doing as his father wishes, and Magneto's sudden disappearance and interest in Sinister are far too convenient, timeline-wise."

Scott shook his head. Normally, he would've considered this. Maximoff was a daddy's boy, and daddy was just insane enough to pull a stunt like this. But not now. Not like this. "You think Magneto convinced Pietro to lie to JP, to lure us there, for whatever reason?" he had to clarify.

Grimly, the Professor nodded. "I doubt that Magnus is in league with Sinister, but he may somehow be using him to get to us. If his dream of mutant supremacy were to resurface, despite his... situation with Apocalypse... Scott, it's been month since we fought him. And all we've heard of Magneto since are the words of a thief."

"A thief _you _allowed into this house," Scott pointed out, face flushing uncomfortably. This felt wrong. All of it. Xavier was _wrong_.

"And he's proven that he is willing to help us, now. He's being tested. Perhaps he is not legitimate– perhaps his presence is all a part of Magneto's plan. But Gambit's word is not being taken at face value either, he's had an X-Man working with him every step of the way since he's become involved. It's not a chance we can take, not with the lives of the X-Men. And neither is gambling on the word of Quicksilver. One more day. If anything can be found, we'll find it before tomorrow ends."

No. It was all wrong. In a way, he understood, of course. Normally, he wouldn't have wanted to do something like taking the entire team to some far off country he knew nothing about on the word of that arrogant motormouth Maximoff.

But this wasn't playing around. This wasn't some high school problem. This was life and death, and Jean-Paul had known it all week. The Maximoffs had walked into a trap, and Sinister had them _and _Magneto. If he could get a hold of them– he could get a hold of any of them. Alex, Remy, Scott himself, even. "Pietro is a liar," he said, quietly, after a moment. "He's erratic, undependable, arrogant, and an all-around asshole."

Xavier's eyebrow arched at that. But Scott could've sworn that he was almost smiling.

"He's turned traitor for Magneto before," he continued, shaking his head now," and I think he'd probably do it again. But everything I've heard from others backs JP's story up. And, to be perfectly honest, Professor... I know he wouldn't feed Jean-Paul to the lions. Me, Jean, Kitty... especially Kitty, yeah. But you gotta understand...," he trailed off there, helpless to explain the sheer... weirdness that was Jean-Paul and Pietro.

"You're wrong," he simply finished. "I'm leaving in less than eight hours. Northstar comes with me, and probably the Brotherhood."

Having nothing else to say, Scott then turned and walked out of the office, closing the door softly behind him. No mental beckoning followed. No rebuke, no agreement.

Which suited him. He was determined to get a few hours of shut-eye before he took off for Transia. With or without the X-Men.

Either way, he had a long day ahead of him.

* * *

When Wanda opened her eyes, it was because of whatever it was that was pressing on her leg, shaking her.

"Wanda, Pietro, wake up, quickly!"

Her eyelids, heavy with just enough sleep for her to get comfortable in dreamland before being so rudely ejected from it, fluttered open.

And she saw... a cow.

No. A cow-person. A cow-_woman_.

Talking to her.

Her brother stirred against her, still sitting as he had been when she'd passed out, holding her up, sitting against the wall. "Wha–," he began, eyes fluttering open slowly. She watched as they seem to focus on the cow-woman. And listened to the predictable squeal that followed, as he realized what, exactly, he was looking at.

"The hell...?" She took slid her legs off his lap and her arm from around his neck, blinking rapidly. Was she still asleep? Because this was definitely one of the animal-people from the dream. The exact one. The cow-woman. She pushed herself off the edge of the bed, and took one step forward, on shaky legs. "Holy fuck..."

"Shhhh," the strange creature appeared, somehow, to be... smiling. She stood erect on two legs, arms and legs proportioned as a human being's, chest over pelvis, perfectly... normal-ish. But... she was still most definitely... a cow. Her head was a strangely harmonious blend of both bovine and human features, decidedly more cow-like than human. Not frightening, per se... other than for the sheer fact that... well, she was a _cow_. Large, dark eyes, and... a _smile_. "Quiet, children. We must go swiftly."

She reached out then, a small, key-like object cradled between the two fingers she possessed, almost cloven in between, like an elongated hoof with an opposable thumb. Strangely elegant and effective, really. There was a click, and Wanda felt her metal bracelet suddenly become looser, unsnapping. Her hands went to it, and pulled the horrible thing off, sending it crashing to the floor, even as the strange woman passed the key-thing over Pietro's wrist.

Her brother was suddenly on the other side of the room. And then back at her side, in a flash. He sighed, and leaned back on the bed, closing his eyes. And said something... entirely too fast to be understood.

She furrowed her brow at him. "Pietro... slow down."

He blinked at her, rapidly. And then took a deep breath. And said, "Right. Sorry... fuck,thatfeelsgood."

She nodded, feeling the power in her stirring again. The blue and green electric feeling that she knew she could call up, if she needed it... but would she need it any time soon? Hadn't this woman... cow... entity come to help them? If she'd removed their bracelets, she surely wasn't _afraid _of them, after all.

But Pietro was examining their would-be savior now, eyes moving up and down too rapidly to catch, taking her in. "Um... so the cow is talkingtous."

"The cow is _rescuing _us," she corrected, rubbing at her wrist, still certain she could feel it there, eating away at her. God... that _did _feel good. She hadn't even hexed anything but... she never, _ever _wanted to feel that... helpless again. Never.

"My name is Bova," the woman told them, still smiling, looking at them with some strange affection in her eyes. "And I'm much more than a cow. But come, follow me– we haven't time to waste. Delphis and Ursula have disabled the surveillance, but the loop will only keep him fooled for a short time before he discovers it, or decides you've been sleeping for too long."

The twins exchanged a glance. And Wanda knew that her brother was thinking the same thing she was. Obviously, this Bova wanted to rescue them, yes. And she clearly had some friends who were helping, if they'd doctored up whatever surveillance they were under. But...

"Who, exactly, is going to discover it?" Pietro beat her to the punch, predictably enough.

"Essex."

Pietro's response was predictable too. Almost comfortingly so, really. "Fuck!"

"Where is our mother?" Wanda asked, flexing both of her hands. The woman had clearly fucked them over, and she wanted some answers. It was bad enough that their father didn't seem to give a fuck about them, that he'd mind fucked her into submission and used Pietro his entire life...

Power coursing through her belly, at that... starting to jump around, inside her...

Oh yeah. She needed that. Goddamn, it felt good.

"In the laboratory," Bova replied, gesturing to the slightly open door, "under the mountain."

"And our father?" Pietro asked, eyes darting around nervously.

"With her," she took a few backwards steps in the direction of the door, obviously trying to lead them that way.

Wanda shot her brother another look, and he was already shooting her a similar one. That made _no sense_ at all. The woman had said herself that she was scared of their father... and for obvious reasons, now that Wanda knew what a sick fuck he was. "She said he was frightening...," was all she managed to force out, through her confusion.

Bova took another few steps, and Wanda reached out for her brother instinctively, clasping his hand, and pulling him along behind her, until they were standing just beside the door. "No one knows _exactly _what he's up to... but we have enough of an idea to know that it isn't the sort of thing our Lord would approve of. He's given Essex full use of the Citadel, and the rights to the laboratory in his absence, in the name of Science. But we Knights are convinced that if he knew what we know... he would not have left this place in such hands."

::Higher Man,:: Pietro suddenly spurted, switching into Romani.

"That is what the Rom call him, yes," she nodded, solemnly, reaching for the door. "To us, he is the High Evolutionary."

Wanda, of course, wanted to know just how the hell Pietro had heard of such a thing when she hadn't. But there were other issues at hand. "Who are the Knights?"

"We, the children of the High Evolutionary. Anyone born here can become one of the Knights of Wundagore. Including you," she indicated them both.

Again, the twins looked at each other. Pietro's eyebrows were almost up to his hairline, and his dark blue eyes were wide. He looked... impressed.

He would be.

"There is little time," she pulled the door open now, and started shuffling them out of the tiny room. It should have come as a relief, but Wanda could see clearly that the hallway outside was simply... huge. Long stone corridors, vaulted ceilings... and where the hell were they supposed to go from here? "Tygra waits for us at the exit– we must get you to safety."

"I can run us out," Pietro was peering around at an alarming rate, obviously looking for the nearest exit, just as she was. "Tell me which way to go."

"You must take the secret path," she pulled the door shut behind them, and waved them along down the right corridor, feet echoing as she made her way down it. Knowing they had no choice but to follow, most likely. "It is hidden, and impossible without a guide. I will take you out."

Pietro squeezed her hand, and they started down the ominous hallway after this fairy tale figure, silent. His hand was shaking, just slightly, but she squeezed it back, and it seemed to stop. She knew very well how scared he'd been, to tell her... everything he'd told her. But, oddly enough... she felt closer to him now than ever. Almost as if his confession had washed something away that was between them. Not that she had the vaguest fucking clue what that was, or what it ever had been. But she knew he wasn't lying.

He was a good liar. He was an actor. A storyteller. A gypsy.

But so was she, as it turned out. And maybe he'd had a little more practice, but she could tell with her own goddamn brother.

He was telling her the truth, about all of it. Why would he lie? And it explained so much. It made things seem so much more clear. Made so many pieces of the puzzle fall together. She still couldn't remember, of course, all the things he was saying had happened. Between Transia and Arrowrose, which she now realized had to have been the breaking point, nothing felt real. The lack of emotion in her memories, the strange faded colors and descriptions, the headaches when she dug a little too deep... it explained everything.

And it didn't do much to make Pietro look good, either.

But then again, he was nothing if not a survivor. And if she'd really tried to kill him, used him as bait to kill their father (which, she had to admit, she was probably very capable of, if she'd been _that_ angry with him, even without the asylum to consider)... well, fuck.

It didn't matter now anyhow. All that mattered was getting out.

They reached the end of the corridor, and Bova opened a heavy oak door for them, and ushered them inside a room that appeared much like a library. They filed in, still clutching one another, her hand starting to feel just a little sweaty. Pietro didn't seem to mind. His hand was dry, or would have been, if not for hers. He never had sweated much. Only when he was upset, really... or just _that _exhausted...

The Knight removed a rug from the back of the room, crouching low in the glow of the torches illuminating the room– at such odds with the flatscreen monitors and the like scattered about the library. A trap door was revealed, and she pulled it open with little trouble, and gestured for them to follow her before disappearing down into the darkness below.

Pietro licked his lips, and went first. She followed, quickly, pulling the door shut behind them again, since Bova appeared to have found a torch below, and was waiting for them at the bottom. A few stone steps later, she was standing under the library, in a narrow, claustrophobia-inducing tunnel. It smelled like earth and wet, and made her feel like she was going slightly insane again. But she took her brother's hand again, and followed where the cow-woman led them.

Like Hansel and Gretel. Like some kind of weird fairy tale siblings, being led to their doom.

Maybe not, of course. She did remember this woman from her dreams, that much she knew... and she wasn't the scary part of them. Something about her was almost comforting, really. Her gentle voice... the smile... not that her life wasn't so fucked up already that she would disbelieve _anything_ these days. But animal-people...

The Knights of Wundagore. Apparently, her life was more fucked up than she knew. And what the hell was that, about them being born here? Marya and Django must've known all along, and that was why they used to hush them when they'd talk about their dreams of animal-people. It made perfect sense. As much as animal-people could.

But... where would they go once they got outside? Back to the Maximoffs? Wouldn't that endanger them again? It wasn't as if they could simply fly home, though Pietro could probably run them... somewhere that would be useful. And... what about Magneto?

Not that she should care, of course. The man had made her brother into a basket case, and taken away the larger part of her life. Ruined it, really. She could've been... if not for him, she would've been...

Fuck.

She was going to regret this.

"Can you show us to the laboratory, where our father is?"

Pietro kept walking. Like he'd expected her to ask that question.

Which bothered her. Immensely, for some reason.

Bova looked over her shoulder, but kept leading them down the narrowing pathway. Water trickled from above, and there were small, bioluminescent growths on the cieling, casting a soft glow from above their heads. Normally, she would've been fascinated by how lovely they were. But tonight... she was busy. "Essex plans to bring you there. He will use you."

"Like he's using our parents?"

Pietro's hand twitched in hers. And he stayed quiet.

Which also bothered her. Pietro being quiet was a bad sign. A very, very bad sign. Possibly one of the signs of the apocalypse.

"Your mother is mad," came the answer, as Bova's footsteps slowed to adapt to the newly treacherous terrain. "Once, she sacrificed herself for your sake. I know she would want it again."

Finally, Pietro spoke. Quietly. Only for her ears. "Wanda... I know what you're thinking. But we can't."

She shot him a quick glance. And knew he didn't believe what he was saying.

They had nothing but each other, and she knew it for sure now. But she wasn't going to have this hanging over her head. They weren't like him. Pietro had been right, when he'd yelled it at their mother, not so long ago. He wasn't like Magneto. And neither was she. "I hate him... but..."

He sighed, and looked straight ahead. His jaw seemed to flex, and he closed his eyes. Slowly. Too slowly. He was pushing himself. "Django would tell us to do it, you know."

She looked straight ahead, at that. Django _would_ tell them that they had to rescue their father and mother. Was that the reason she hadn't been able to let go of this whole... family thing? She hadn't thought of it that way before... but when she had been in the dark about her own past, she still had the instinct to run to her father. And yeah, to protect him. Sure, it was opposite that killer instinct that had somehow taken shape, somewhere in there. In the asylum, with Mystique. Wherever. But it made sense, from a gypsy perspective. Marya and Django were her parents. They'd taught her these things.

And for some reason, those lessons still felt very important. Maybe because they were the only part of her life that felt real. Maybe because it was the only thing she had.

Things just felt so much... clearer now. Like accepting the fact that she had no fucking clue who she was... would somehow allow her to figure it out, now.

"We're fucking stupid," she informed him, unnecessarily, she knew. "After this, it's you and me."

She saw him nod, out of the corner of her eye.

But that wasn't good enough. If they did this, it was... it was their ticket out. Freedom from this fucker and everything he'd done to them. Proof that they could exist without him. That they weren't like him. That they were human. "Say it," she demanded.

"You and me," he said, immediately.

And she believed him.

They rounded one last corner, and Wanda was less-than-shocked to see yet another half-animal, half-man. This time, he was a beautiful, six foot tall tiger-man. His eyes were glowing in the dim light, reflective, fascinating cat-eyes. And he smiled, as they approached him, and the door he stood watch by. "Children! I've heard so much about you!" he boomed, in a voice that seemed to echo off of each and every rock in the never-ending underground they'd come through, individually. It almost made her shiver. "Come, we must get you to safety," he began to undo the latch to the door.

"No," Pietro said, quite simply, letting go of her hand and crossing his arms over his chest, defiantly. His face was suddenly set in a very familiar Pietro-expression. That bitchy little "don't fuck with me or I'll fuck you up" one he was so good at.

Bova shot her fellow Knight a worried look. "No?"

"Look, we appreciate it," Pietro conceded, his face softening only marginally to prove it.

"But show us the laboratory," she finished, fixing first Bova, then the tiger-man, with a very steady gaze.

The two Knights exchanged a look of concern. And then looked back to them, sighing.

* * *

* * *

AN: Right. So I _did _warn you that it would get angsty. I mean, that was the point, right? So yes, this was a monster chapter, and you all have my apologies, but hell... what to do? I gotta thank Risty and Jen1703 for helping Sue keep my feet on the ground on this one, and providing priceless help with some character points. Sue Penkivech gets a huge effing gold star for digging through this beast of a chapter– fragmented as it was. It was kinda painful to write, I can't imagine how painful it was to beta. Gold star, I say!

So now we get to the point, with this chapter. The entire fic spawned as an idea to let me do the first thing I did here– make Pietro come clean. And now it's done. It's like... sending the kids off to college. /sniffle.

But much more angst to come, my friends. Hang on, if you can stomach it, and I will bring it all back round!

In important news, however, Blaze has done up a really nice JP/Pietro drawing, and I think it might be enjoyable for anyone who likes the pair. I'll link to it in my profile, so you can see, but definitely check it out, cause she rocks so hard.

Now, for the usual:

_DoubleL27_– Hallo darling! Yes, Sinister beatdown is coming... in many fun ways, perhaps. But alas, there was recovery to deal with here. I was glad to post your boys asskicking on your birthday... it felt somehow... right ;) I think Scott may have saved JP from a Nightwing fate... but it ain't over yet. At least there is no Blockbuster to deal with... ew.

_Jen1703_– Yay! I'm glad you liked the action... I love the action. Action makes me happy! Actually... it's probably my favorite stuff to write. And there it was, your sneak peek! Hope it reads a little better than the first time you saw it... as opposed to worse ;)

_amura– _Ah yes, the last chapter came so fast! This one was longer in coming, but well... it's long. And difficult. Hopefully I can get through the next one with minimal damage to me and my lovely beta... but I'm not holding my breath. It just gets more and more complicated. Wooohooo. Hope this one was enjoyable for yer.

_DemonRogue13_– As much as I was going for angst here, slicing Warren's wings up would just be... way too much. For this fic, anyhow... mwahaha. Only so much blood is allowed, even for me.

_Minerva Solo_– Emotional intensity is definitely in danger of being on high overload... but I suppose I expected it. And yes, I agree, the Summers Moment (tm) was definitely needed. Feel the brotherly love. Awwww.

_Angharad–_ Well, hello hello! Glad you're still reading, and I do hope the beaubier files met with your approval. Not the prettiest of sites, but it does the job. I've always loved the way the Beaubiers had a habit of screwing themselves with their powers... the blood... the blood...

_Pomegranate Queen_– You know, I end up on the edge of my seat when I read a lot too, because of the "faster and faster" thing you mentioned! I'm flattered that the action did the trick for you, thanks so much for following the story!

_Akuma no Tsubasa_– Ahh yes, my Brotherhood love knows no bounds, and they will be utilized in the very near future. I'd wanted to put something in this chapter... but I guess certain things just... needed to be dealt with. Let's hope that's over with! Enemy-guy with Sam and Alex was Scalphunter, and was IDed in the beginning of the chapter, and a little while back, but it was made pretty vague since the NMs don't know him. Oddly enough, he's shown up in Weapon X lately! I was so excited! Anyhow, hope this bit lived up to some of your expectations.

_Eboni– _You know, I love when people pick up on stupid little things I throw in there. JP's pronoun switch from plural to singular is just one of em, and man, you caught it! I'm grinning. I really really am :D It's not that he doesn't care about Wanda... it's just... well... yeah! I hope this chapter finds you bored at work– it's long enough to provide much... stuff to do while bored, I'd think. Thanks for the reviews!

_UncannyAsianGirl_– Whoa! Did you change your penname? Anyhow! Yeah, Aurora goes a bit off the hook... more on that next time, but she's not in a good place at the moment. I like to keep the disorder in the background, for the most part, and let her have fun, but considering the angst of the fic, it's time for it to come out and play. Painful as it may be for her... and us. Alex was always wanted by Sinister, once the big idiot realized that he had the _wrong_Summers brother in his orphanage, when he had Scooter. Never quite got him... but yeah. Feel the canon love. Plus, as pure destruction goes... sorry, but Havok _is _called Havok for a reason. You pegged it! The others on the list... ohhh maybe it'll come out later...

_CrimsonObsession_– hee. Anything for you babe ;)

_Amelia Glitter_– Hello hello! Glad you enjoy the tension. It's just another of our favorite things to play with here at Beaubier Fic Unlimited. That JP you drew is FANTASTIC! God he looks so awesome. I love it so hard!

_Slash Gorden– _I do believe that your assessment was gold– Scooter had the shittiest day ever. But at least he did something good, in the end. In my humble opinion, that is! The whole JP/JM unable to touch thing _is _canon. She let Walter experiment on her and it did pretty much the same exact thing. Of course, this was at a time when she was dating Walt, and JP had a massive crush on him. And then, Walt "died." And they still couldn't touch. So you see, it's not my fault. They're just angst machines. Really. It wasn't permanent, in the comics, but it took a whole hell of a lot to turn back, lemme tell you. The jury is still out on that, here. Mostly because I can assure you, it won't be fixed by the end of this story. And Alex and Forge's children would rule the world with their shinyhair. That is all.

_Relwarc_– I admit, I had a momentary urge to let the guy slice Warren's wings... but it went away fast. Just too much blood. Too much to deal with. More fun to have it turn out this way, and defy canon!!! I defy it!! ... sometimes. As for whether or not the X-Men and BH will get to Pietro and Wanda in time... oooh if I told, I'd give away my next chapter! Or like... possibly the one after. I suppose it just depends on how long it takes me to get to that point. But you will know soon. Oh yes. Ohhhh yes.

_Blaze_– Look for Alex/Ray to tie up it's loose ends in the next fic. No room for it here! Too much... moving! But, I am very glad that you are still enjoying and, again, thank you so very, very much... I still want to have your babies. The drawing is printed out, and taped in the front of my notebook :D

_Risty_– Action You know, for some reason, destroying Warren's ankle was really fun for me. Great minds, and all that. Thanks again for the hard work on this chapter while I was flipping out from the flood and my cat and my headaches. You win!

_girlonthem00n_– Are clams really happy? You know, I've always wondered at that expression. Really, I have. It is utterly nonsensical, yet I love the sound of it. Which you, having read this fic, probably don't find too surprising. But yes... anyhow... And did you say more drama?! /serves it up/

That is all! Thanks for reading, y'all make me happy. You're brave, brave souls, and I love you.


	15. Lost and Rescued

Chapter Fourteen: Lost and Rescued

Pietro Maximoff was scared shitless, and hating himself for going along with this. He crouched beside Wanda, somewhere in the labyrinth of Sinister's laboratory complex under Wundagore. The place was dark, but not necessarily inherently evil, like the last place he associated with the man. Aside from the smell like formaldehyde, electricity, and their three-day-old clothes-- the smell was strikingly familiar, and made him want to twitch. They'd been following the lights from place to place, making a map in his mind, until he was sure he knew where the old bastard was. All the signs led to one place. All the paths ended here.

He had a feeling that his father was behind door number two. And he didn't want to open it.

It had been a long fucking week, and he didn't much feel like lying to himself. Magneto could fuck off and die, as far as he was concerned. He still believed what he'd told his sister, ages ago, before Apocalypse. Magneto was a bully. He'd gotten in over his head again, and gotten what he deserved. End of story. One less bully to push him around.

Only... there was a lot more to it than that, and he knew it. This bully was his father. Her father. And while he could easily convince himself that it wasn't his duty to do shit for the guy... Wanda was another story. And if Pietro didn't try to help her, she'd never forgive him. Not this Wanda, the one he knew from Transia. And that was all _this _Wanda had to work with really- her gypsy memories. The only things she had that were real.

She didn't hate him, though. Which meant that he could have her back, if he did this one thing.

Plenty of things about his life had become clear to him since he'd landed here at home, in Transia. He now realized that Django had been right about him all along. Pietro Maximoff was never meant to be alone. He was half of something. And the other half was her.

He'd been so young when she'd been taken away. Through everything that had happened- with the gypsies, being uprooted and stolen to America, being sequestered and ignored and prodded at... none of it had ever really been _that _bad. Because they'd always had each other. Someone to talk to, someone to understand. Hell, they didn't even _have_ to talk to understand, back then.

Then he'd taken her away. Could've been for any reason. Because he was afraid of her? Because he knew that together, they'd be stronger than him? Because somewhere in that fucked up head of his, he really thought it would be better for her? It didn't matter at all.

What mattered was that he'd taken away a piece of Pietro. And now, without even meaning to, he'd given her back. And Pietro was way too smart not to recognize that he'd either do what she asked, or he'd be at serious risk of losing her again.

She'd said that it'd be just them, after this. Wanda and Pietro. No more father, and if anyone could keep him from running to his father, it was her. If he had her, what difference did it make if Magneto thought he was worthless? Magneto was just too fucking stupid to realize that it was _his own _fault if his son was worthless. He'd taken half of him away, after all.

Fuck him. This was it. This was freedom. This was how he'd take himself back. They'd save their asshole father, and he'd have _nothing_ to hold over their heads. And they'd go back to Bayville, and he could see Jean-Paul again and not let him out of bed for a week, and Wanda would love him, and everything would be okay... for the first time in over a decade.

Just this one thing. This one thing that Django would tell him to do, anyhow. It'd make his old man proud. The real one. The Maximoff one.

His life was unfolding in front of him like a book, crouched low and tight under the mountain, in the dark, listening to Wanda breathe. No more suppression. No more lying to himself. All his energy focused on this one thing. It was a new mode of being, for Pietro, and scary as fuck. But for once, he was truly focused. Just. This. Once.

"What the fuck do we do?" Wanda already sounded tired. They should've slept more- she wasn't made for running on empty.

"Hell if I know," he sighed. "We can't just walk into his fucking lab." God. Sinister's lab. _Not _an experience he needed to relive... not at all.

"I'll hex the door," her face was grim, pale in the soft blue glow. "You run in and grab him. You can do that, right?"

He nodded, "Done it before."

"I'll keep... whoever else busy. Get him out and come back for me."

"No way," he shook his head. "Not leaving you." That was non-negotiable.

"It'll take you five seconds to get him out of here and come back," she glared at him, hard. "If we go together, you can't carry both of us."

Pietro screwed up his face, but couldn't deny her logic. And he knew she could hold her own for five seconds. At the _very _least. "This isn't much of a plan," he pointed out.

"Got a better idea?" She almost laughed, much to his surprise. Whether it was a crazy laugh or an actual amused one... that still remained to be seen.

"Obviously not," he sighed. "Let's do it." At that, he stood, and zipped to the door, planting himself in front of it, hands on hips.

Long seconds later, Wanda appeared beside him, and he felt her start to... crackle. The dark lit up with blue hexlight, as it whizzed from her hands, straight at the metal of the door. The silver-blue metal suddenly appeared liquid, wavering, flowy lines appearing, their formerly rigid structure bowing dangerously. And it ripped apart, with a strange, incongruent splashing sound.

In an immeasurable fraction of a second, Pietro took in the scene it revealed. A laboratory, just a little too similar to the one he'd been held in, back when Sinister had been frying his nervous system for shits and giggles. Stone floors and metal tables. Walls of equipment, monitors, glass stasis tubes, wires and hook-ups and disturbing, bubbling vats of god knew what peopling the large, open room.

Sinister. Almost seven feet tall. Blue-grey skin, red eyes expressionless, glowing. No cape this time.

And Magneto. Standing beside him in a pair of khakis and a black sweater. His face looked... different. Something strange...

Fuck. He was _smiling _at them.

Pietro froze, stomach clenching sickeningly. He shot an extremely nervous glance at his sister. This was wrong. All wrong. Sinister had _kidnapped _their father. They weren't best buds. Magneto was supposed to be tied down to some table in here, and Pietro was suppose to go break him free and run with him to safety and then come back for Wanda and...

And Magneto did _not _wear khakis. Ever.

Wanda's jaw flexed, visibly, as her eyes darted from one man to the other for an agonizing moment. Not more than two seconds. An eternity for Pietro.

"My god...," she whispered, glancing back at him.

Sick. So very, very sick to his stomach. This was, without a doubt, _wrong_.

"You came," Magneto stepped forward now, faint smile still in place. "Come in. Your mother will be here soon, she's in the next room. It's good to see both of you."

... Okay. Now he _knew _this wasn't his father.

"What the hell is going on here?" he blurted, honestly feeling like he might throw up at any moment. Jesusfuck, he couldn't even imagine how the hell... what the hell...

Magneto was in league with Sinister? Something like that... that was all he was sure of. But... did he really have to go to all this trouble just to trap his own kids? If he'd asked, months ago, they would've come. No... no, there was something else going on here. Magneto didn't operate like that. His father was doing something here, something bigger. Pretending to be in league? Shit, what if he had just fucked it up?

"Uh...," he amended, quickly, before anyone could reply. "I mean, we could hardly find the place. Jesus, what a maze."

Magneto's silver eyebrows raised, but he shot his son a strange glance. Like he was... amused?

Oh sweet Jesus. This could _not _be his father. And god, his stomach was fucked. He suddenly felt light headed too...

But before anyone had time to say another word, the inevitable happened, and Wanda exploded. "What kind of game are you playing, you sick asshole?" She pointed dangerously at their father.

"Wanda, don't-," he tried to stop her, panicking. Shit, shit, _shit_. If Magneto was trying to infiltrate and he somehow needed their help to get out of here (not that he thought they should help him, but still, they were here, and Wanda would want to, right?), she'd blow it with her temper! Pietro didn't _like_ his father... but he _did _know the way he worked. And no _way _Magneto would either let his Acolytes think he'd been taken by force if he hadn't, or truly join forces with someone who'd kidnapped him. He had way too much pride for either. Hell, he had too much pride to even _pretend _to acquiesce either...

But something was missing, and that was the only answer his mind could dig up. Something was making him sick.

And Wanda was about to blow something up. "Answer me!" she growled, cutting him off, her hands flashing an electrified bluish-green, spheres of energy spreading out from them, pulsing threateningly.

"Wanda," Magneto held up a hand, stepping forward again. His expression was obviously confused, but moving fast toward angry, eyebrows drawing down and in. And that was definitely the "commander Magneto" voice that said, "Stop this. What's wrong, child?"

For a second, she wavered, and shot Pietro a quick look.

He shook his head, quickly. _No, Wanda, don't..._

Her lip curled up, and her hands started to glow even brighter. "Talk or I hex," she growled again.

Pietro sighed. This was gonna get ugly. "We... uh... we just don't get why you guys are working together," he tried to cover quickly. Jesus, Sinister was staring _right through him_. That man, or whatever he was, had strapped him down to a table and fried his nervous system for a laugh, and now he had a hold of his _father_.

The lines on Magneto's forehead deepened. "I've been here all week. Essex...?" he looked to his new "partner."

Okay. That made absolutely no fucking sense. Yeah, he'd been here all week. But _not _of his own volition... and why was he acting like Pietro should _know _all this shit...? God, something was _so _wrong...

"He _kidnapped_ you!" Wanda shouted, the hex spheres spreading further now as her anger flared.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Um," Pietro's lighting fast mind fumbled desperately for a way to explain, to stop her, even to just get her the fuck _out _of there...

"She's mad," Sinister stated, simply.

Red flashed behind the speedster's eyes when he heard it, and he promptly stopped trying to make excuses. "Fuck you, asshole! _You're _the-,"

The words took too long to leave his lips, however. Before he finished, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, from behind. Lighting fast, pure reflex, he reached for the hand, grabbed it, and swung the offender around by his arm a few times, in a circle, building up dangerous amounts of momentum in what would look like a cyclone, from outside. He recognized the fucker, too. Riptide. Looking bruised and battered, granted, but it was still the same psychopathic freak Marauder he'd had to deal with last time. Pietro took aim, and let go at just the right angle to slam the bastard straight into Sinister.

He never saw if it worked out that way, however. What he saw was Wanda staggering, inexplicably at first, as that green-haired bitch stepped out of the shadows. Also looking worse for wear, but it was definitely Vertigo. Which made the staggering not-so-inexplicable, any more. He zipped across the room to her, picking her up and slamming her into one of the flashing computer panels against the wall, his shoulder in her gut, without even thinking. She impacted with a crash and a fizzle, sparks flying as her head slammed backward, cracking a monitor. He heard Riptide crashing into something at that exact moment, but he didn't look to see what.

Spinning around as the green haired bitch slid to the floor behind him with a barely audible groan, Pietro caught sight of his sister again. With something disturbingly silver around her neck, being held, hands behind her back, by a huge brown-skinned man with long black hair... and a giant fucking knot over his eye. Goddamn, someone had fucked the Marauders up. But what was scary was that Wanda was fighting him... but not hexing.

Fuck! That bitch must've incapacitated her just long enough for Huge Unknown Marauder Creep to snap that thing around her neck!

He started to shake, still seeing only red. Somewhere, he thought he heard Magneto demanding to know what was going on. He'd started to ask when Vertigo was about halfway to the floor, in fact.

By the time he'd finished asking, Pietro was already at his sister's side, and had thrown his first punch, hard and fast, into her attacker's side. Before the man could even crumble, he slammed his other fist into the man's rib cage, moving with his natural superspeed, feeling bone crunch under his knuckles. Again, he pulled back and let go. Resistance against his fist, a slight give, hard muscle and shattering bone. He couldn't see properly. This fucker had Wanda. Again. Sick to his stomach. Again. Panic, heart racing, like he'd explode. Again, and the man's body finally realized what was being done to it, as he started to fold at his middle, fingers letting go of Wanda. She started to dive out of the way, falling forward as she struggled out of his grip, but Pietro just kept pummeling him. Over and over. Drilling, crushing, bruising, breaking. Red rage burning through his veins at lightspeed, blood on his knuckles from god knew who.

Wanda hit the floor. Screamed his name.

He stopped.

Long-haired Marauder had dropped to his knees, the effects of uncountable blows all hitting him at once. He slumped into a ball, bleeding.

Pietro took a breath, tried to slow himself down, deliberately. He flexed his hands, straightening his aching, partially broken fingers. Shaking. Swallowing sour acid, burning at the back of his throat.

He had to slow down. He couldn't tell what was happening. Out of control. Needed control. Hyperdrive senses and his sister was moving too slow, and he couldn't _stand _this with his father coming toward him and Sinister pointing in his direction...

Another deep breath. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the mangled Marauder, reaching out carefully for his sister. Slowly.

Her hands went to her throat. She was trying to sit up. But she couldn't.

"Magneto!" she clutched at his arm.

Fuck. Metal collar. Magneto was holding her down. By the neck.

Pietro looked up, still fighting to reconcile himself with normal time again. He hadn't lost control in so long, he'd almost forgotten how to fix it... Magneto had one hand out, pinning Wanda effortlessly by the stupid fucking inhibitor around her neck. "Let her go!" he snarled, through his teeth, trying to pull her up with aching hands. Futilely.

"What is the meaning of this?" his father demanded. "Did you come here to insult those who would help me with my work?"

Pietro stared, still clutching at Wanda. He just... couldn't understand. There was no answer. This couldn't be happening. "Are you _on _something?!"

"He _kidnapped_ you!" Wanda repeated, still scratching at the inhibitor.

"What is she talking about?" Magneto loomed over them now, his presence almost suffocating.

"Ask _me, _you jerk!" she spat.

Pietro looked from his struggling sister to his increasingly angry father, swallowing acid again. Unable to answer anyone. Couldn't be happening. Had to get her out of there.

"Lensherr, your daughter is trying to kill me," Sinister spoke, his Marauders (or what of them were present), attempting to pull themselves off the floor. Except Vertigo, who wasn't moving.

"Fuck you, creep! Let go of me, father!"

"Wanda, stop immediately," Magneto boomed. "Pietro, explain."

"Get out of here, Pietro," Wanda hissed.

His stomach clenched. No.

"You will not move," his father glared, cocksure. "Explain this needless violence."

Wanda struggled again, almost over top of Magneto's demands. "Get out! Find help!"

Help? _Help?!_

"He will call their X-Men!" Sinister was moving forward now, red eyes flashing.

"He will do no such thing," Magneto's cold blue eyes were staring right through him. An all-too-familiar glare. The one that said, You will do what I say because you're my son. If you disobey me, you're nothing. Only with me can you rise to the top. You want to be on top, don't you Pietro?

He shook his head, trying to clear it, avoiding Magneto's eyes.

"Get out or we're dead!" Wanda clawed at him, now hysterical.

Riptide was on his feet again, shurikens flashing.

Vertigo twitched, in a pile on the floor.

Nameless Marauder groaned, angrily, impotently, nearby.

Magneto took a step forward, as if to grab him.

Sinister was coming for them, the malice in his every move unmistakable.

"_Go!_" She screamed, nails digging into his arm.

He had time to think it through. A few seconds before Magneto would have a hold of him, or have the time to consider dropping him to the ground by reversing his blood flow. Thinking with his blood rushing in his ears, making him feel a bit like he was underwater.

If he left her now, there was a chance that _someone _could help? But who? And how would he find them? The X-Men would help, or, at least, Jean-Paul would. Jean-Paul, god it hurt to think of his face. Would anyone else help them? Would Pietro be able to run to somewhere with a phone? A phone, such a normal, trivial little thing. The nearest city was over two-hundred miles. Would they connect him to America collect? Could he really leave Wundagore, knowing that she was trapped inside with Sinister and Magneto?

And if he stayed... what the fuck was Magneto _doing_? Pietro had just taken down three Marauders, violently, he realized. After that, it had to be perfectly clear to Magneto that his son could hold his own here. And it had always been obvious that Wanda could. So if bucket head wanted _out _of here, he'd missed a golden fucking opportunity... and Magneto didn't _miss _opportunities. It was perfectly clear that he could level the place _himself_, in fact, let alone with Wanda's help... hell, Pietro was a pussy, compared to his father and sister, and even he could own these losers, apparently. At least, with the help of a little berserker rage...

So what the _fuck _was going on? Sinister was looking at Pietro like he was a little worm on a big hook, and the speedster knew all too well what that meant. This was going nowhere good, fast. Even fast, to him. She was probably right, there would be no one to save them, if he let himself be caught...

But... how could he? "I can't," he told her.

The room was closing in around them. He was holding her hand.

"Go or we're _dead_," she begged, face pink, eyes wide. "You have to go. I need you to go!"

She blurred, as his eyes suddenly became wet. He could feel the warmth of Magneto's body, too close to him now, just about to clamp down on him, take him into captivity.

He sped up, in an instant, leaned over, and kissed Wanda. He knew very well that no one else would see it. The only reason she'd even know would be the ghost of his lips on hers, after he was gone. The feeling like something had been there. He hoped she'd know.

And without allowing himself another precious fraction of a second to think- Quicksilver was gone.

* * *

_All your fault. Weak, foolish, ridiculous little girl._

_All._

_Your._

_Fault. _

_ Why don't you go write it down in your little journal, Jeanne-Marie? Why don't you go stare at the stained glass window and pray for your Angel to save you from yourself? Save you from your own stupidity. From your own fear._

_Stop crying._

_Stop that pathetic weeping._

_Now._

_Do something about it. Take control, for once in your sad little life. Fight back. Be your own person._

_Because if you don't, you pathetic little bitch, I'll do it _for you.

"Jeanne-Marie?"

She started, heard jumping into her throat instantly, at the familiar voice. The hand on her shoulder. Just a little too cold, as usual.

Jeanne-Marie drew a hand over her face, quickly, hoping to hide the fact that she'd been crying. Again. But she hadn't been able to stop since the accident. She'd cried herself to sleep, last night. And when she'd awakened, she'd started again.

The minute she remembered what she'd done.

"Hey... um, I can go, if you want...," Bobby took his hand away, slowly, when she looked over her shoulder at him.

"_Non_," she told him, instantly. "_Non... _don't."

She'd been sitting here, in the window-seat, since lunch. Which, of course, she hadn't eaten. Jean had tried to get her to, but Jeanne-Marie couldn't bring herself to eat. Or to do much of anything but cry.

But she didn't want to be alone. Not really.

Bobby's wide, brown eyes latched on to hers, for a moment. Questioning. He bit at his bottom lip... and then sat beside her, with a pronounced thump.

She sniffed, and wiped beneath her eyes again, hoping the flood of tears would stop. She didn't want him to go away. So she turned herself around, facing away from the window, legs hanging over the side of the window-seat. Her leg against his, her arm over his. And leaned, just a little.

He didn't say anything. Just looked at his feet. He had a giant band-aid on his forehead, and that cowlick at the back of his head was standing at rapt attention. It almost made her smile.

"How is your head?" she asked, after a few moments of rather uncomfortable silence.

"Oh, it's okay," he shot her a sideways glance, then returned his eyes to his feet. "Mr. McCoy says I should take some more codeine and sleep... but I totally feel like a zombie, man. I'll take the headache."

At that, she did manage a smile.

"How about you?" his voice was suddenly quiet. Tentative. As if he thought he'd break her if he spoke too loudly.

_That's because he might, isn't it, Jeanne-Marie? You're fragile and vulnerable and made of light. And the slightest threat, the tiniest touch, can split your pathetic little world into pieces. And it's all. your. fault. _

Jeanne-Marie closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Trying to fight it off. God, but she hated her. Hated her _so much_-

"You don't have to talk, JM," he was whispering now. "I'm sorry, I can-,"

"_Non_," she reached out, as he started to move, put a hand on his leg. "_Non, reste une moment encore_."

"Um... JM..."

She shook her head, and focused on him again, correcting herself. "Stay another moment. Please." She had to pull herself together. Had to stop fighting her. "I'm just tired. But I'm happy to see you."

His eyebrows drew down and together, under shaggy hair, and he put a hand over hers. Still cold, but so lovely. "You don't have to talk," he repeated, "I'm just... I heard, is all."

She met his eyes again. Usually laughing eyes. Putting glitter over Scott's door and snow in Jean-Paul's boots. She only nodded at him, unable to speak. There was nothing she could say anyhow. Everyone knew what she'd done. What she'd done to her beautiful brother. What she'd done to them.

"Warren's gonna be okay," his voice sounded slightly better now, and gained confidence as he went on, little by little. "I just came up from the medlab. Pyro, that crazy bastard, saved my ass before Sam and Alex showed up, so I wanted to check up on him. Doc says that Warren should be up and around soon, and he'll walk fine in a month or two. Something about how well he's healing already- I guess it's kinda crazy. Anyhow, the surgery managed to put all the pieces of his ankle back where they belonged, before they healed up all wrong, and he's already on the mend, as they say. I mean, he's no Wolverine..."

Jeanne-Marie slumped against him, letting his babble wash over her. It felt good. Sounded good. Just listening to him talk, no matter what it was about. She'd already heard about Warren's surgery, and that he was healing remarkably well. The Professor had sworn he'd inform her the moment there was news, if she'd leave the medlab and try to see the sun. She knew that Xavier was trying to help her, to get her to go out and live, to stop crying in the medlab... but she'd insisted on knowing about Warren as soon as possible, as her condition for going. Now, he'd promised to contact her the moment he awoke.

Part of her was desperate for him to. Desperate to see him, hear his voice. It would make her feel better, she knew, even if it was only a temporary fix for what ailed her. But right now, she'd be more than happy for even that much.

_Yes, run to the Angel. Even if he reminds you of that window, back home in LaValle. Home, at the orphanage, where you were sure he'd come for you one night, because of what a wicked girl you are. Don't you feel ridiculous, Jeanne-Marie? Aren't you pathetic-_

"- But it's pretty cool anyhow," Bobby's voice brought her out of it, suddenly, and she looked over at him, eyes fixing to his face, as if he could anchor her there. She had to stop this fight. Had to get it together... He paused, looking at her for just a moment, her sudden fixation on him obviously confusing him. Or at least drawing his attention to her state.

"Jeanne-Marie," he was shaking his head and sighing now, eyes narrowing in concern, "I'm so worried about you. Have you talked to the Professor much?"

She blinked at him, watching his eyes. So sincere. It wasn't right. Bobby's eyes should be laughing. "_Oui_. He said he'd be with me tonight as well. After dinner. Maybe Jean-Paul...," she almost choked, suddenly on the name. She hadn't been crying before... but now her throat was tight and her eyes were burning again... "Maybe he'll be back by then. He comes with me, sometimes. To see Xavier."

She wasn't making sense, and she knew it. She knew what she meant, but... it wasn't coming out right. Bobby opened his mouth, to reply, but stopped himself. Like he didn't know what to say. Like he was afraid.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm hard to be with, I know."

"Jesus," he surprised her now, suddenly wrapping both his arms around her, and pulling her hard against him, one hand on the back of her head. She nuzzled into his neck. He was warm, even if he was always a little colder than the average human being. Maybe it was just the combination of them that was warm. The space between them. "You're not hard to be with, JM. Not at all. Warren's gonna wake up soon, and he's gonna want to see you, and then I'll be all depressed because I don't have you to myself anymore. How could I feel like that about someone who's hard to be with, huh?"

She gave a sad laugh, halfhearted, and slid her arms around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder. Letting him hold her. It wasn't the same. But it was sweet. She didn't want him to go. "Okay," she whispered. "Thank you, Bobby."

"Hey," she could hear the smile in his voice, even if she couldn't see it, "you don't have to thank a friend for telling you the truth."

Such a sweet thing to say.

_Such a sweet thing to say. He says it because he's afraid he'll break you again. You break so easily, you break yourself all the time. Admit it, Jeanne-Marie. You know who it is you really want to save you. But he can't now. Can't be near you. Can't be in the same room as you. Ran away to find his boyfriend, forgot all about you, alone, without him. Look what you did to him. Look what you did to _you.

"Such a sweet thing to say," she whispered, eyes shut tight, throat clenching painfully.

God, but she hated her.

"Such a sweet thing to say."

* * *

John Greycrow wasn't at all surprised to find himself the Last Marauder Standing.

Blockbuster, the dumb bastard, hadn't come back from the clusterfuck in Bayville. Dead or alive, he was no good to the boss now. Harpoon, the cocky asshole, had come back with a smashed face and his leg eight kinds of broken. Out of commission for months, and the boss was fucking pissed. Vertigo had been alright, once she'd woken up... but roughly three hours ago, she'd nearly had her head smashed in by the little silver-haired fairy fuck, and she wasn't waking up from that one just yet. And wouldn't be for a few. Riptide was functional, but getting ripped a new one for letting that whole fuckup in the lab happen in the first place- it had been his job to tag the kid. Instead, Quicksilver had gotten away.

And Scalphunter sure as fuck knew it. In fact, he wasn't exactly "standing" very easily himself. He was pretty goddamn sure, in fact, that the little Maximoff fuck had caused some serious internal damage. Jesus, he'd never felt anything like that in his life- like being hit all at once, by about five hundred different fists. He was pretty sure, in fact, that if it weren't for his regenerative capabilities (slight, but there, nevertheless), he'd have bled to death internally by now. And he still wasn't exactly sure he wouldn't, in the end. Cracked ribs aside... there was some seriously fucked up shit going on inside of him, at the moment.

Sinister could probably fix him, of course.

But he wouldn't. Not until this little shit had been caught.

The searing pain around his right lung had gone numb, luckily, after about an hour of searching the entire mountain for traces of Pietro Maximoff. Scalphunter had used his techno-forming capabilities on a homing device he had tucked into his utility vest, and changed it so that it caught heat signatures, instead of just the signal from the tiny tracker he'd failed to land on Quicksilver before the slippery little cunt had escaped. He'd caught sight of the little shit multiple times- darting in and out of caves, behind rocks, shit like that. Like a little jackrabbit. For the first hour, nothing. But since, he'd been all over the place. Scalphunter had even seen the kid with his own two eyes, in fact, in the past half hour. Twice.

Which, unless he was mistaken, meant that the kid was slowing down.

Finally.

And John Greycrow was born and raised a hunter. He knew when his prey was getting tired. He could practically taste it.

If he could just keep from bleeding to death, internally... he really owed this little bitch some serious pain. Some very, _very_ serious pain. Just needed to live long enough to get his hands on the fucker, and then, take him with him.

Magneto was out here somewhere too, but it was impossible to get a signal on him, obviously. Fucking magnetic interference with all his equipment. But Scalphunter would just have to make sure he got to the kid first, so he could fuck him up a little. What Sinister and bucket-head didn't know wouldn't hurt em, after all. They had the little Maximoff bitch already, and he hadn't gotten to have any fun with her. Might as well take his revenge on the boy-twin.

Kid had it coming. And he'd love to be the one to give it to him.

* * *

The X-Jet had never been a particularly stress-free environment. But today, Rogue was pretty goddamn sure, won the gold star for tension you could taste.

Sam was up front, with Wolverine and Storm. Kid had been so jumpy all morning, it was obvious his mind was somewhere else. Wasn't real hard to figure out where, either. They had him in the jump seat, on the pretense that since he was a prime candidate to pilot the jet back, he'd get a refresher on all those sims he'd run. It was painfully obvious, of course, that he was really up there so the "grown-ups" could keep him from crawling out of his skin. Rogue, personally, had a feeling that the Kentucky boy would be focused as all get out, as he would've said himself, the minute they landed this plane in Transia. It was just a question of getting his body caught up with his mind- which was already there.

Scott and Lance wore disturbingly similar expressions- eyebrows low, jaws tight, faces turned downward. For once, they had nothing to say, it seemed. No antagonistic bullshit banter. No threats. Of course, Lance had already gotten airsick twice, which was probably not helping his will to argue... but she knew damn well that his expression was more Fearless Leader than green around the gills. She wondered if anyone had ever bothered to point out the similarities to the two boys before. She'd always thought Lance was a jerk, personally... but he had that thing about him that Scott did. That... "I know what I'm doing and I'm sexy while I do it," thing. Kinda. Either way, neither boy had spoken since the jet took off. They were brooding. And they both did it so well.

Freddy and Todd were quiet too- strapped into their disproportionate seats. Todd's eyes kept shifting, that unnerving, glowing amber shade. He'd even avoided bothering Kurt- a pass time the bug-eater seemed to enjoy just a _little _too much. Fred kept fucking with his seat belt, absently. Like all this holding still was just a little too difficult for him. Freakish, considering that holding still was what he _did_.

Kurt and Kitty sat across from each other, shooting worried glances between them, also silent. Both of them had jumped at the mission. Kitty wanted it because, for one, she liked Wanda. But honestly, she liked Jean-Paul too, despite her best efforts not to. Rogue had discussed the issue with her roommate not that long ago, in fact. Problem was, Kit had the biggest heart in the world. And no matter how much JP intimidated, scared, or annoyed her... he was still her teammate, and in a way, brother. Kitty would never let that go. Girl just had to spread her sunshine. The fact that she had all the codes and info that the (now too injured to come along) Cajun had brought them only cinched her position on the team. And Kurt... well, he was Kurt. He'd follow Scott on any crusade, and in his heart... well, Rogue knew her little brother was a sucker. And she loved him for it.

And then there was Jean-Paul. She didn't know what the fuck Scott had said to him the other night, but it seemed like it'd done some good. Honestly, she'd expected Cyke to end up with a black eye or a broken jaw, after he'd gone after JP.

Part of her, she hated to admit, was jealous. Jean-Paul had been her friend first- _she _should've been the one to get through to him.

But she'd mocked that part of herself into submission, until it was well and truly stamped out. Just like she'd mocked her stupid crush on JP into submission. And she'd decided, in the end, that she was just really goddamn glad that he didn't look quite so broken anymore.

He'd been looking straight ahead the entire time, staring at the back of the seat, never looking over at her. As if he didn't even really know she was there. His hands kept gripping at the armrests, obviously needing something to keep them busy. White knuckles and the muscles in his forearms pulsing at regular intervals, under skin tight kevlar.

She'd been trying to think of something to say. But fuck... she wasn't so great with this kinda stuff. She understood, she really did. In fact, she could fucking strangle Jeanne-Marie Beaubier right about now. There was only so far the "but she's fucking nuts" excuse went with Rogue- she knew what it was like to be out of control. She knew what it was like to fight with yourself, or with others in your head. It wasn't the same, but... she fucking _knew_. And it didn't go far enough to excuse _this_. As if Jean-Paul wasn't fucked up enough over this whole Pietro mess- psycho-sister had to go and fuck up the _one _good thing the boy had in his life...

God. Some people just wanted smacked.

But she couldn't say that to JP, and she knew it. For one, it wouldn't make him feel any better. And for another, it'd just piss him the fuck off. JM was his sister, even if girl seemed not to give a fuck, unless she needed someone to cry all over. And Jean-Paul would defend her until it killed him.

Rogue nearly twitched, thinking of her reaction to Kurt's first attempts at "family connections." They'd talked about it since, of course, and they were clear now. Kurt understood that she had certain... issues. And so did he. But Jesus... at least she'd _wanted _to be a sister to Kurt, from the beginning. At least...

Okay. This wasn't helping. She'd fucked Kurt over and she knew it. But she'd... she'd made it better. They'd made it better.

Nothing was going to make this better. Maybe that was pessimistic... but what the fuck could turn back some weird ass genetic masking process? Or the fact that, as far as she knew, Jeanne-Marie had no interest in doing it, even if she could.

And comparing herself to the Quebecois girl was only causing a little too much pain for comfort, anyhow. So enough of that. Back to Jean-Paul.

The fact of the matter, with the Beaubiers, was that Jean-Paul loved his sister more than Jeanne-Marie could appreciate. And that was what pissed Rogue the fuck off, more than anything else. That was why she was staring at him, out of the corner of her eye, wishing she knew what to say to make it better. She knew what it was like, in a way. She understood part of what he was going through.

But she didn't have sunshine to spread, like Kitty.

His hands tightened again, on the armrest. The muscle in his jaw worked. Ice blue eyes dropped to his lap.

And she didn't really mean to, but she did it anyhow. She covered his near hand with her own gloved one. It almost surprised her, at first, that she'd done such a thing. But seriously... just looking at him was making her hurt.

His eyes seemed to focus, suddenly, as he blinked. Jean-Paul turned his head, fixed her with that _look _he had. The one that made her feel like he was looking right through her. Pretty lips a little too pale... but he looked like he wanted to smile.

Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

His fingers moved, underneath hers, and she mentally prepared herself for him to pull away. He was having a bad day. He didn't want to be touched. He just wanted to think, to get ready, to...

Instead of pulling away, however, he slid his fingers upward, between hers, tangling them. She curled her fingers downward, between his, and around his hand, and he followed suit. Within seconds, her hand was still on top of his, but they were fastened tightly together, hinged at the fingers.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, just slightly. Her stomach felt like it was full of lead. There was nothing she _could _say, not really.

His fingers squeezed in on hers tighter, warm through the fabric of her glove. He turned his head again, to look out the window. But he didn't let go until they were ready to land. Until she recognized the mountain from Riptide's memories. Mount Wundagore.

* * *

Wanda felt her head slide to one side. Uncomfortable.

But not really. Nothing felt like much of anything, really. Not anymore.

She knew that her father was gone. Gone after Pietro. She knew that Pietro had left her here, but he'd be back.

And she knew that whatever the fuck this red-eyed bastard wanted from her, she wasn't going to be into giving. But at the moment, she couldn't even move a finger... so...

The vampiric red-eyed fuck had called her a gypsy.

The word kept appearing in her head. Over and over again. Like it was written on the inside of her eyelids. Gypsy. It meant something to her, and she didn't know what.

He'd kissed her, and now he was gone.

::Here comes the gypsy girl... who is beautiful and smart...:: She wasn't sure if she was singing aloud. Or if she was just hearing it in her head. That was what the word reminded her of. Of her mother. Singing. What language was it in? She knew what it meant, so it didn't matter... ::Whoever tries to court her... will come to regret it...::

Haha... ha. That was funny. The song made more sense now... now that she'd...

She blinked, when something flashed in front of her eyes. Was he back already? Or had he been gone for days? She couldn't remember. She just wanted to go to sleep.

Sinister.

Another word... why that word?

Red eyes in front of her. And he was yelling at the skinny man with the black hair. She'd seen him before. She didn't know how.

::When she goes to market... she is the most beautiful one...::

Her head slumped further. Her lips might've been moving with the words. Pietro used to sing it too, and laugh at her. Not a mean laugh. A laugh because he said it was about her...

The man with the red eyes. He looked very far away. Like a vampire. Her mother used to tell her about vampires. They weren't real.

He must be fake.

He reached out, and grabbed the skinny man. By the throat. Pointing at her. At _her_.

"You will do it."

She understood his words, his violence. Her blood seemed to freeze, though she wasn't sure why. Something in her said it was the drugs he'd shot into her. The rest of her was just frozen.

::Her father goes with her...::

"I can't! If you want her mind to break-,"

"You will do it, or I'll break _you_."

::In a nice horse-drawn wagon...::

Her father had gone after her brother though. Dark hair and eyes... no. Silver hair. Like her brother. Like Pietro. He'd be back soon.

"It won't work! It could kill her, and me- gak!" That was the skinny one's response. His feet weren't touching the ground anymore. They were kicking. The vampire's hand squeezed.

Her blood, frozen. God, her blood. Why was this happening?

::Come with me, beautiful gypsy girl...::

Her eyes started to close. No more words, from the two men in the room with her. No words, just kicking. Choking.

God. God, he was _dying_... she could feel him dying, she thought...

Dying and she was frozen and... and now her head was moving just a little. But her neck was so tired. She just wanted... to sleep...

Pietro would be back soon, anyhow.

And the song was stuck. And the gypsy word burned into her head. For no reason, and she knew it. Just a word. A random word. The last thing she remembered. Something to hold on to.

::Come with me, beautiful gypsy girl...::

The skinny man was dead. Dead because of her? Dead somehow. On the ground. The vampire was looking at her. What would he do now? What was she supposed to do...?

::Come with me, beautiful gypsy girl...::

"Wanda... you'll cooperate won't you? You don't want to end up like him. You'll listen to your father..."

Her father.

::Her father goes with her... In a nice horse-drawn wagon...::

She started to smile, it seemed like.

He did not. "Speak English. I cannot understand you."

This annoyed her immensely. It used to annoy Pietro too. "Gadje Gadjensa, Rom Romensa," she informed him. Stupid fucking Gadje vampire... If he didn't like the way she talked, he could go fuck himself... calling her a gypsy... she didn't call herself gypsy... they were Rom... Wanda and Pietro...

Another needle in her arm.

Red eyes faded.

Into black.

* * *

"First order of business- look for signs of company. Scanner says we have at least one heat signature down here. And one more that keeps disappearing and reappearing. Fast."

Jean-Paul caught the look Scott sent him. And nodded.

He wasn't letting himself get too hopeful. Maybe this was all a farce, like Xavier feared. Maybe Pietro had been mistaken. Maybe...

Maybe it was him.

"We can't get a lock, too much magnetic interference. Which could mean two things. And you can figure out both of them, without me having to tell you."

Easily. Big fuck-ff scrambler equipment. Or Magneto.

"Northstar, Storm, you two are our aerial view- we need you to stay here and search the mountain. If there's some kind of secret entrance, or if there are people crawling around down here, you'll be the ones to find it. Avalanche, Rogue, come with me to that Citadel-,"

He couldn't wait. He was practically twitching. Jean-Paul pushed off the ground, and flew away from the still-rambling team leader.

He hurt. Everything hurt. He just needed to find them. Two heat signatures. Wanda and Pietro. They had to be down here. Somewhere. No matter how much he told himself he shouldn't think that way, no matter how much he swore he had to set himself up for failure here...

There was no option. It had to be them. Had to be him. He didn't care why or how- he just wanted it... so badly. Stomach tight knees weak eyes burning wanted it.

"_Northstar_."

It was Scott. Over the comm link.

"Oui," was his short answer. Exasperation. Goddammit, did this mountain have to be so huge? Where _was _he?

"_Be care ful. Don't do anything stupid, man. Check in, fifteen minutes. Tops_."

"Fine. Northstar out."

Not that he didn't appreciate the sentiment.

But he was busy.

He was scared.

And, God. He hurt.

* * *

He sunk down, against the rock, in a small crevasse. Maybe they wouldn't see him here.

Fuck, he was tired. Hours now, running. The nearest village- their village, he couldn't get connected. He'd tried to call. But it wasn't working. He couldn't get connected to Bayville, he'd probably have to go to Budapest... and that was far away.

And he couldn't go any further. Couldn't leave.

She was in there. _In there_. And he'd left her. Again. Third time. First time, asylum. Second time, Sentinels. Third time, Wundagore. Back to the beginning, and he was always leaving her. God... god... needed her back. Had to get to her. God only knew what that sick bastard would do... He shuddered as he remembered his own moments on Sinister's table. Remembered the feeling of his synapses and nerves being fried. What had he done, leaving her there...?

Like a rat in a maze. Magneto was near, so near he could practically _feel _the fucker. Goddam Marauder guy on the other side, chasing him. Somehow, following him. He was confused and broken and he didn't know what the fuck to do. The longest day of his life. And he couldn't do a damn thing.

Pietro looked up, at the sound of his name. Yes, that had been his name. Sounded like someone was crying for him. Someone who wasn't him. Jesusfuck, he was just so tired, and there was no one there but Scalphunter (who was supposed to be really close to dead, he was pretty sure) or his father, and did he really, honestly think that either of those fuckers would _ever_ cry for _him_?!

Wait. No. Fuck.

He looked up, just a little further. And blinked.

Fuck.

It was. It couldn't. Could it? Did he? But...

Fuck.

"Jean-Paul?"

The phantom he saw there, rimmed in the dying red sunlight, stepped off the rock it had been standing on.

Stepped off, and fell a ridiculous thirty feet to him. Landing right in front of him, like a cat. Like it was nothing. Like a goddamn angel, all shadowed and glowing at the edges.

"Jean-Paul," again. But definite this time. Couldn't seem to stop saying it, now that he'd started. Felt good, in his mouth, on his tongue.

Blinking again, because the sun was still behind the specter of him, and he couldn't really see his face very well. But he didn't need to, because he knew who it was, all the same. And maybe he'd finally fallen asleep and it was just a dream, but if that was the case...

He didn't want to wake up.

He knew that the other boy was moving at a perfectly normal rate. He knew the movements by heart; elegant, graceful. But he was watching them in slow motion. Had he spoken slowly? Would Jean-Paul understand him, even if he hadn't? He couldn't remember anymore, but the way the phantom was moving was making his eyes sting. He didn't want to wake up now.

"Pietro, _mon dieu_," Jean-Paul knelt now, in front of him, leaning forward over his lap.

Pietro could see his face now. Sharp and beautiful and intense blue eyes, staring right through him. He knew he was doing the same. Just looking at this boy... just looking at him, and he was blurring now, because of the fucking sting in his eyes. The painful familiarity of seeing him. Breath on his face and the sound of his words, breathed as if he couldn't quite force them out properly.

"I don't want to wake up," he told the phantom. He was just being honest. Should he lie?

He watched as hands reached out, as one touched his face, cool and sure. Felt like Jean-Paul. Searching, at once testing for bruises, bumps, and just _feeling _him. Felt real. The other boy's face was hard, paler than it should have been. Pietro could hear him breathing, and it was agonizing. The other hand tangled in his hair, and he closed his eyes.

It hurt to look at him. Staring at an eclipse. It was blurry anyhow.

Lips on his now, surprisingly hot, but careful.

Pietro kissed him, and leaned forward, into it. Reached out, suddenly.

The kiss felt real.

His hands connected with kevlar, tight over shaking arms. He held on. Turned his head sideways and drank him in. Fuck, he'd needed him right now, and he'd come. Needed him right here. With his lips going soft against Pietro's, just like they used to in his bedroom. After JP had finished his calculus homework.

Jean-Paul pulled back, suddenly, and his eyes latched on to Pietro's again. Jarring, so blue. "Are you hurt? I saw Scalphunter, tracking you..."

Pietro blinked, again, at the question. Was he hurt? Scalphunter? Was that the guy's name? "I thought maybe I killed him..." He'd hit that guy... a lot. Hard. How was he tracking him?

"Killed him..?," Jean-Paul leaned forward, breathing on him softy.

Maybe he _was _awake. "Am I asleep?" was all he could come up with.

"No," came the answer, quickly. Hands searching his skin again, smoothing his hair. Petting him.

He closed his eyes. God, yes. "I want to go to sleep, Jean-Paul. I need to sleep."

The other boy shifted, but Pietro couldn't open his eyes to see just how. Strong arms lifted him, and he let them. He stood on his own two feet, though, and put his head on the shoulder nearest to him. He'd always liked his shoulders. They were really perfect... so perfect. Perfect even through the uniform.

Jean-Paul's arm latched around his waist. "You can sleep. We'll take you to the jet. It's going to be okay, Pietro."

His eyes snapped open, then, as they started to move. Jean-Paul started to move. Pietro simply stumbled along with him, leaning against him heavily. "I can't yet. We gotta get Wanda."

The movement stopped, and Jean-Paul turned to face him. One hand found Pietro's cheek, again, and he turned his face upward. Feeling. Examining. Drinking. Ice blue eyes darting here and there. Pietro slumped into him, his muscles burning. He'd never felt this before. Exhaustion. Wanted to fall into Jean-Paul and stay there.

"Where is she?"

"Inside," he answered, from JP's neck. "They have her inside. She told me to get out. Told me to find help... I couldn't leave her..."

Arms tight around him, now. So fucking _right_ and he started to cry. Crying right into Jean-Paul's nice X-Men uniform. Crying and bleeding all over him.

"We'll find her." It was a promise. Had his voice always been that low, that rough? He must've forgotten some things about him, while he was gone. Forgotten how perfect he was. How just seeing him made his throat tight. "Don't worry, we'll find her."

Pietro suddenly had a flash from a conversation... a long time ago... telling Jean-Paul a story in his bedroom at the Institute... "You're an alright Lancelot."

Jean-Paul shook, just a little. Maybe it was Pietro. But he thought it was Jean-Paul. Shook like he was trying not to run away. Trying not to scream. Trying not to hit him. Hands in his hair, breath in his ear. Hot and solid and real and it had been too long since he'd been able to feel this good. "You were supposed to be Arthur, not Guenevere," he breathed.

"This time, they're the same." Pietro wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that, really. But it seemed right. Somehow.

Jean-Paul only nodded, and kissed his cheek, carefully, holding him up. "_Oui_, I suppose they are."

Pietro felt his feet leave the ground.

"I found him. Wanda's inside. I'll be at the jet in two minutes."

JP was talking to the air. Funny, but he didn't sound like he was happy to see him. If Pietro didn't know better... he would've thought that Jean-Paul was going to cry.

"Gotta find her," he reminded him, eyes still closed. He hated flying. Hated his feet being off the ground. But it was okay... for now. Jean-Paul's arms around him. It was okay.

"Stay awake long enough to tell us how to get to her, Pietro. We'll get your sister back. And you can sleep."

That sounded about right. Of course, he'd have to go with them... they'd never find her without him... but he couldn't really protest, at the moment. Couldn't do anything but hang on.

Jean-Paul kept talking. Low, gruff. He wasn't saying anything, he was just talking. Keeping him awake. Saying his name. He didn't want to wake up.

Just wanted to sleep.

* * *

AN: ... I've just moved cross country. I'm too tired to explain myself. God help us all, I swear, it's ALMOST over! In the mean time...

Jen 1703- It still makes me grin every time you say you love my Scott. I am full of glee! See me! This is glee!

Star-of-Chaos- Long indeed. This one was a little more bite-sized, luckily... but I'm glad the last one's angst could be referred to as "gorgeous." I do get annoyed with the angst... but we all knew it was coming!

crazyspaceystracey- Thanks for the love! More reasons for Xavier? In a way, yes. Things aren't going to end up quite as expected, at the Xavier Institute, and we'll get to hear more from baldy before it's all over (not long now... almost there...) I've never understood why anyone thought that Wanda's memories would rush back after she found out... they're gone. Mastermind said he finished the job, I consider it done!

Minerva Solo- Thanks so much! Yes, yes there is a sequel already nice and planned out, actually. I'm pretty happy about that fact, seeing as how I have crap to wrap up that simply will not fit into this plot, without dragging it down... let's hope I can finish up this one in a timely fashion and get on with it!

Risty- Weird... you were talking to me while you reviewed! You know, I'm not really sure just yet if I need the New Men any more, for what I have planned... but I'm gonna have to work a reference to Sir Ram in there for you, obviously...

Cailleach Bheur- Don't feel bad Kate, Evo!Scott was always cooler than 616!Scott! I'm glad the whole Magneto thing worked out... you know, it's one of those things like we were just talking about-- where the PoV can make so much difference. Do I use Magneto? How long do I use Sinister? Grrrr... I swear this gypsy blood is to blame...

PomegranateQueen- I'm so glad it worked for you! That was definitely a rough chapter to slog through, but you're a trooper for it. I hope this update finds you as joyous as the last ;)

Angharad- Yep. It's Magda. Scott/JP was something I agonized over. There was something I definitely wanted to say about Jean-Paul with that scene... and I think it came out, in the end. Thanks to a little help from my friends... or a lot. Really glad it worked for you.

girlonthem00n- "a nice long chapter"... that DOES make me feel a bit better about how amazingly cumbersome the last go round was! Thank you! Hope this one keeps up the good will.

Eboni- Oh, you darling. You made a few really fantastic points in your review (as usual, ever helpful!) but the one that I'm going to talk about at the moment is the thing about JP and JM moving apart while Wanda and Pietro are coming together. That, my dear, was all I wanted to do! Sure, I took a long-ass complicated way to do it, obviously... but isn't that just the way it should be?

amura- I'm a huge Tygra fan too! So cool! Anyhow, thank you for saying it was getting better. I keep trying to go there, but sometimes, I'm uncertain. You're lovely to say so.

Ima Super Mute Ant- And you made my week ;)

DoubleL27- I've always thought that all Wanda has is Pietro, and all Pietro has is Wanda. Whether they know it, or like it, that's all they have. That, and the Brotherhood. But the point of the story is... well, you know what the title is. Much love, you GET it!

Kamikaze- So now that I'm done blushing... thank you! You honestly see what I'm doing here, which is a huge, huge compliment. Obviously. Every comment you made, I was reading it going, "yes!" For me, there's no better feeling, so thanks for reviewing, and letting me know. And, as a side note... I'm glad the New Men weren't too freakish for me to pull of...at least a little. I love them so much... I couldn't very well deny them an appearance. Thanks again!

UncannyAsianGirl- I DID see Havok using his powers to fly-- dude is just so uber powerful it's not even funny. Evo, I figure, shows him at his earliest level of "control" (or lack thereof.) I've given that aspect of him a lot of thought, seeing as how I play Alex at my RP, so I can't really avoid it... and I think his potential should be explored! ... never REACHED, obviously (I mean, it's just Evo, he's a kid!), but explored! What a waste otherwise, huh? Anyhow, very glad you're still reading, thanks for the excellent review.

Relwarc- Thank you thank you for your understanding on the Pietro/Wanda issue. I have serious hangups with those two, and this was my little... purge, if you will. And you got it! Words cannot express my gratitude. As for JP/Scott... well, the undertones were there, in my mind, all along. I couldn't help but bring them out... glad you picked up there too... VERY glad. And as for the swearing... as many people as I ask, I get as many answers. I'm just sticking with American-kid swearing when he does it in English, and what little Quebecois-ish swearing I can glean from those I manage to corner into supplying it when he does it in French. Lazy... but I don't know how to wrap my head around it otherwise. And Kurt... yes. Kurt. Good idea!

Slash Gorden- ... still giggling every time I see your screen name. Xavier, like I said up there, talking to... someone else, is confused too. Sorta. I've been re-watching Evolution, having recently acquired all four seasons for my own viewing pleasure, and I've been thinking a lot about him (I play him at my RP, and let me tell you, he's a pain in the arse...) And, to be honest... he's a dick. But not without motivation (as opposed to Evo!Mags, who, as far as I can see, is JUST a dick...). Whether or not my reasons will be sufficient remains to be seen... but I'm kinda excited about testing the waters! Thanks so much for the most excellent reviews!

Posessor of the X Gene- I'm really glad you've been enjoying the fic! And I'm ALSO glad you're feeling the Angel love. We need more Warren love in the world-- poor chicken boy is so very underappreciated. It hurts me so! And about Alex being gay... points to his beautiful hair. I blame the fabulousness, these days. ;) And yes... yes they have the pointed ears. God I love the pointed ears...


	16. Lies and Revelations

_Chapter Sixteen: Lies and Revelations_

Wolverine sniffed the wind carefully, narrowing his eyes for a glance around. He'd gotten the transmission that one Maximoff had been found and the other was still inside and in need of a rescue about ten minutes ago. And he had no fucking intention of abandoning his hunt to sit around and hash out that battle plan. Leave that to One-Eye.

This was _his _way.

If he managed to get what he wanted, they'd have more information than they would need to bust into this joint and end this whole fucked up little game that Sinister freak was playing. He'd picked the wrong damn kids to fuck with.

Scalphunter wasn't moving so great. His tracks were erratic. He was favoring his right side and hunching something fierce—Logan hadn't laid eyes on the man proper, but he didn't need to see him to know that much. Logan also knew that Scalphunter was keeping tabs on him as well somehow—there was no other goddamn way the man would've been able to avoid him for so long. The terrain was working to his advantage… or had been.

Wolverine was done playing, though. He gave a sudden burst of speed and strength to his legs and started bounding over the rocks and around the scrubby trees on the mountain, directly toward the wounded Marauder he knew was leaning against that huge outcropping only a few yards ahead. He heard the man's footsteps start, heard him stumble and fall into the low brush. It only made him run faster, push harder. Smiling.

He rounded the outcropping and leapt toward his quarry, who was laying face down in the brush like some kind of goddamn animal that had laid down to die. He landed on the man's back hands first, and grabbed hold of his faggy little vest near the shoulder blades. There was a sickening, satisfying crack as the weight of Logan's adamantium coated skeleton cracked a few vertebrae (or something in there, anyhow). Logan's knee arrived on the scene and lodged itself firmly and forcibly against Scalphunter's tailbone, with the full force of Logan's beastly momentum behind it.

To the half-dead man's credit, he only grunted with the extreme pain he must've been feeling. Logan snarled. He knew it sounded like pure anger, but to his mind, there was a mild measure of respect in the sound as well. If the man hadn't already been shattered all to hell, he might've made a good opponent.

Logan tightened his grip on the faggy little vest (which was going to be his nickname for this fucker, if he lived past this little adventure) and jerked upward, bending the man's spine backward unnaturally, but not so much that he'd snap it. Yet. All this without removing his knee from its position against the now-cracked tailbone. Man smelled like blood and resignation. Like an animal who'd given itself up.

Wasn't no harm in trying, though. "You willin' to die for your boss's secrets?" he snarled, lowering his face so that he was almost growling in Faggy Little Vest's ear. "Or you wanna tell me how to get in there?"

_This _was what he'd come for.

The man coughed. His mouth moved like he wanted to say something but couldn't.

Logan let go of the F.L.V. and the guy slammed face first into the brush like a sack of potatoes. "What was that again?"

The man put his hands down on the ground slowly. Logan kept his knee in Scalphunter's back/ass area, but let him move. It proved to be a good choice as Scalphunter used the leverage to push himself upward just enough to pull his face out of the shrubbery. He turned his head sideways, let himself fall again, and looked up at Wolverine with already-dead eyes.

"Fuck you. Kill me."

Logan growled again, this time even lower and even more severe. He didn't want to kill the fucker. He just wanted the info. "Don't be a dumbfuck, Chief. Tell me what you know and you live."

"I'm dead already," the man glared as best he could.

Logan smelled no fear on him. Just blood. More and more blood, and it was mostly internal. He smelled like he was dying. He smelled like he _knew _he was dying, and couldn't fucking wait for it.

"The only reason I'd talk would be if I thought that Maximoff brat would die—," he coughed and couldn't finish his sentence.

"Son of a bitch…," Logan growled, sitting back against a rock and shaking his head. This guy wasn't going to talk. He was dead anyhow.

"Kill me," Scalphunter croaked, blood trickling out of his mouth and staining the brush below his head. "Don't be a pussy and leave me here. You know you have—."

He couldn't finish.

Logan sighed. He rose to his knees and released his claws, feeling the metal cut through his flesh with that familiar, horrible flash, feeling his knuckles re-knit immediately. Without another word or thought, he slammed the claws into Scalphunter's back. There was that familiar rush of resistance, then give. Logan knew all too fucking well how to hit the heart without having to bother cutting through rib. He didn't owe this bastard any extra work, after all.

Scalphunter didn't even twitch. He just rattled and died. Like a good little villain.

Wolverine pulled his claws out of the man and retracted. The blood was left on his knuckles. Still stooping low, he wiped it off on the dead man's coat, then stood and looked down at the guy for just a minute more, shaking his head.

Fucking asshole.

"Cyke, this is Wolverine," he said into his communicator. "Scalphunter's dead. I'm on my way back."

* * *

Jean turned as she heard the rustling behind her, a smile pulling at her lips for the first time in what felt like years. She'd been waiting just for this moment—for Warren Worthington to wake up. 

She knew it was idiotic of her to put so much stock in the restorative powers of a loving boyfriend—and she never would've for herself. But Jeanne-Marie… Jeanne-Marie was the single most codependent human being Jean Grey had ever met. And Jean loved her for it, these past few weeks had proven that much to her unquestionably. But Jean… just wasn't sure how to help her. And she wanted with something bordering on desperation to help her.

Part of it was that it was all her fault. But she'd dealt with that now, and consequently retrieved much of the independence she'd felt slipping away from her in the post-protest days. She'd taken responsibility in her mind for all the things she'd let come apart, starting with her move to campus. All the thing she'd been trying to ignore. Her talk with Scott had somehow started her down the path of… acceptance, she supposed. It was impossible to ignore how lax she'd been with her relationships while she was breaking up with her boyfriend and best friend. The catastrophic events of the last 24 hours had fast forwarded the process—Jean simply hadn't the time or energy to divert into suppression and foolishness.

And now that she was _there_, she needed to do what it was she did. Which was move things forward. She knew damn well there was a lot of residual guilt and difficulty ahead for her… but there wasn't time for her to feel sorry for herself right now. She had to make things better.

She just needed a little help on this one. She could admit to that, when it was for Jeanne-Marie.

"Jesus… do you people use morphine…?" Warren raised one hand, a tad sluggishly, and dragged it through his cropped, golden hair. His eyes were drooping and his lips seemed to be moving slower than they should.

Jean felt that slight tug of a smile again. Warren K. Worthington III, on drugs. She never thought she'd see the day.

Maybe now wasn't a good time for jokes… but goddamn, she needed a few right now. She wrestled the unavoidable feelings of attraction and interest for Warren to the back of her mind, to suppress for another day. It was a quick enough job. The way to deal with this situation was to use business. So she decided that she'd be all business… as best she could.

"You've been sedated for awhile, War," she came to his bedside and looked down at him, still smiling faintly. "Your ankle will be okay and the other injuries are minor. Your ribs will just hurt for awhile."

"Don't cracked ribs hurt for months?"

Jean bit her bottom lip. She'd kind of hoped he wouldn't go there. "It could've been worse," she pointed out.

Warren sighed, but smiled back at her just the same. "So where's everyone else? And what the hell happened?"

Jean decided to answer the latter question first. The former was… complicated. She wanted to start this out easy… there was far too much Warren didn't know yet. She was glad she could be the one to break it to him—at least they were friends. (Even if they wouldn't be, if he'd known how she'd behaved for the past few weeks… a decided unbusinesslike thought that Jean pushed away quickly.) But part of her didn't want to have to break the news to him. Particularly the news about the Beaubiers.

"It was a Marauder attack, that much you know," she said, settling into the chair beside his cot and hugging her clipboard to her chest. "Preemptive—they'd assumed we were going to find them and attack. We figured that much out from a headful of Riptide that Rogue got and Blockbuster—the one Kitty, Kurt and Logan took out. Who's currently in the brig."

Jean waited for Warren to nod to continue. He'd just had a rough couple of days. She'd better take this slow. Once he obliged with evidence that he was following, she continued. "They were using dart guns juiced with the same serum they shot into Pyro when they took out Magneto—it dulls the powers, among other things.

"Scott took a team to Transia to look for the Maximoffs hours ago, now that people are mostly recovered. We just heard from them—they found Pietro and they're going after Wanda. It _is _Essex. He's Sinister. They're planning to neutralize him ASAP." Jean left out her misgivings on the subject. The report Storm had submitted roughly fifteen minutes ago had been woefully incomplete… but it was all they had to go on. She knew Scott could handle this, though.

"How's Jean-Paul holding up?" Warren asked.

Jean was… surprised. She'd expected him to ask about the other twin first… but for all he knew Jeanne-Marie was fine and dandy. Jean-Paul was the one who'd run off after Pietro in fits. "Alright—he's the one who recovered Pietro."

She debated on saying more. But he saved her the internal argument by pressing onward, "And Jeanne-Marie? I didn't see her after the fight."

Jean bit at her lip again.

Warren's eyes widened. "Jean…"

"She's okay, Warren," Jean insisted quickly. "She's just… she and her brother had a pretty nasty fall during the fight with Vertigo. Aurora and I were…," she closed her eyes as she trailed off, picturing the battle in her mind again, as she'd done over and over since it had happened. It had just been so horrific to see… "Jean-Paul showed up while we were fighting the bitch off," she opened her eyes and took a deep breath. No point in making it even _more _dramatic, god knew. "When Aurora and Northstar tried to connect to make their light, they both blacked out. The procedure…"

"Oh god," Warren turned white as his bedsheet and leaned back on his pillow with a thump. He understood. "But Langkowski said her powers wouldn't be affected—,"

Business. Business. "Hank and I looked at them both… and it looks like while her powers weren't affected, the genetic connection between her and her brother was. It was a gene altering therapy…"

Warren just closed his eyes, hissing through his teeth. He looked like someone had just stabbed him in the heart. And Jean felt very much like she had.

She stood and went to his side, taking his hand in both of hers. "She's not doing so well, War. Mentally."

She said it, even though she had to choke the words out to get it there.

"I need to see her."

Jean nodded. "I can bring her down. She's upstairs," she let go of his unresponsive hand, trying not to feel slighted or disappointed. She really wanted him to… be there. She turned to call Jeanne-Marie… but stopped. Looking over her shoulder at the ashen angel on the bed behind her, she asked, "War… can you handle this?"

He opened his eyes. They were bright and blue. And determined. "I don't think anyone else can."

Storm handed the last of the sports drink to Pietro and sank into the seat next to his. The speedster did not bother with pleases and thank yous, and for once, Ororo was not irritated in the least. She'd watched Pietro go through gallons and gallons of the rehydrating beverage in mere minutes. It was almost like watching a dry brittle sponge soak up water as Pietro had guzzled the drink faster than she could retrieve it for him—it returned a great deal of vitality and spark to the formerly dry and hallucinating child.

Between her trips to the cooler, Pietro had filled their company in on the developments of recent days. How his mother was behind the nightmares he and his sister had shared in Bayville—unbeknownst to them she was a dreamweaver of sorts. How she was in league with Sinister, though that part was strangely cloudy. Pietro tended to skip the bits he found unimportant. Several times, particularly once he'd gone through a few gallons of sports drink, Scott had to ask the boy to slow down and start from a given point of departure once more. Pietro had grumbled then obliged each time.

Ororo had found it most interesting to hear that the boy had fought several Marauders on his own and come out to tell the tale. That did not sound like the Quicksilver she'd come to know and understand—infamous for his lack of qualms about… well, running away. She watched him carefully as he spoke, but saw nothing but earnest intent to divulge his entire tale to them. The boy then moved on to how he'd escaped and how he'd been hunted on the mountain like some kind of fox or rabbit, in a way he clearly felt was for the sport of his would-be captives. Her heart went out to the boy at that, and she felt another twinge of regret that they at the Xavier Institute had not found a way to help these children. She understood Charles' thinking well enough—the protection of those students they already had was paramount and anyone or anything that might bring disaster on that establishment and those students entrusted to them must be avoided.

But as she watched the broken, still bleeding Pietro Maximoff tell this tale of extreme suffering… she was struck by how _young _he was. Those dark blue eyes, exactly like his sister's, were older than the rest of his face… but he was just a child. Was any child really worth sacrificing like this? Was any child beyond saving?

As she had the thought, Toad hopped to Pietro's side.

Ororo watched him silently, but thought to herself of that first meeting with him in the mansion, when Kurt was their only "new" recruit. And sighed. Maybe there was something to Xavier's philosophy.

But the thought was simply internal comic relief. She knew they'd been wrong. And she vowed to make things right as soon as she returned to New York. Xavier had been wrong one time too many. And no one was in a position to tell him so but her.

"We was worried, yo! How come you only told this fool," Todd whipped his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Jean-Paul, who had hung at the back of Pietro's chair since bringing him back to the Jet, "where you were heading?"

He then whipped his tongue out, obviously intent on intercepting some native insect he'd spied.

Pietro reached out at full speed so that the next thing she saw was that he held Todd's extremely large tongue captive between his thumb and forefinger. "Because you can't keep your nasty tongue from wagging, that's why," he wrinkled up his nose in prissy disgust, then let go of the aforementioned tongue.

It snapped back into Todd's head, sending him flying into a nearby Blob (who'd also been lingering and even more immovable than usual since Pietro had been recovered). Ororo did not fail to note the smile that appeared on Todd's face, however, as he readjusted himself to sit near Freddy's feet.

Apparently, business as usual was comforting for even the Brotherhood.

Lance stood just in front of her, leaning against the inner hull of the plane, arms crossed over his chest and staring at his injured teammate intently. He'd gone with Scott and Rogue to the nearby castle (the one Pietro now claimed to have been imprisoned in, which also had an underground passage to Sinister's Laboratory) and turned up nothing—but that team had returned the moment they heard of Pietro's return. Since then, Lance had been sullen and thoughtful and had refused to remove his eyes from Pietro for even a moment.

Ororo was reminded distinctly of a lion watching over his pride.

So young, all of them. And this journey was not over yet.

"We had to do what we had to do," Pietro continued, after finishing off the last of the sports drink. He was looking much better—his hallucinations and inane fever dream talk had ended with the influx of fluids. He still looked… well, horrible. He was cut and scraped and bruised and pale. Even more pale than usual.

But he looked _better_.

"And you guys couldn't help. But now we need you, so I guess it's good that you came."

Jean-Paul snorted, looking down at Pietro with one eyebrow cocked. Northstar had recovered admirably as well, since his return with the half-dead-seeming Quicksilver. Initially they'd been unable to pry Jean-Paul's hand from Pietro's even for half a second, and Ororo was quite certain that the boy had been crying before he'd landed back at the jet. But now he was returning to business as usual as well.

Her heart went out to all of them for different reasons, and Jean-Paul Beaubier was no exception. She hoped that Scott, with his seemingly special bond with Jean-Paul, could help him. Despite the… blow up at the last meeting, the boys seemed to be on the best of terms again.

And Storm truly doubted that all Jean-Paul needed was a hug and a mother figure, at this point.

Pietro ignored Jean-Paul's unspoken sarcasm rather conveniently and continued, "They have Wanda in there still, so we gotta go get her. I remember how I got in and out both ways—if you guys wanna take the pathway I can get Bova to let us back into the Citadel—,"

"You mean the castle over there?" Scott asked from near Lance.

Pietro turned his eyes to Cyclops. "Yeah. That one. That's where the Knights of Wundagore live. I'm totally a Knight too, cause I was born there, by the way."

Jean-Paul snorted again, "Perhaps a little more Gatorade. He's still hallucinating."

Pietro gave him a dirty look with absolutely no venom behind it. "I am not. There are animal-people that live in there. That's how Wanda and I got out—didn't I tell you that part?"

"You mentioned that you were there, yeah, but you didn't give us a name," Scott pointed out. "Or any details on how you got to the passage."

"There wasn't anyone there like twenty minutes ago, Pietro," Rogue threw in. She was standing near Jean-Paul, chewing on her nails. "Lance, Scott and I went over there and scoured all around the whole damn place—,"

"Oh right, because if you were a huge half animal half man you'd definitely answer the door when a bunch of geeks in spandex came knocking, I'm sure," Pietro scoffed, looking back to Storm for a minute. "You got anymore of that stuff?"

Rogue rolled her eyes, but kept silent as Pietro rolled right over her verbally. Ororo shot her a soft smile, then looked to the impatient Quicksilver. "No. But I can get you water."

"I'm good," Pietro shrugged and stood up.

"Pietro—," Jean-Paul tried to protest, reaching out as if Pietro might collapse at any moment.

Pietro was stretching his arms out now. Ororo caught his wince of pain, but the boy fought right through it, obviously determined to save face, "I'm _fine_, I told you! We just gotta go—,"

"Pietro. You just told us you're a half man half animal _knight_ and we're supposed to think you're alright?" Lance suddenly spoke up, for the first time since Pietro had arrived. "You're more fucked up than I thought. Sit the hell down."

Pietro just stared at him for a minute, as if surprised that Lance had dared.

Ororo covered her mouth to keep her telltale smile at bay. She saw the previously silent and immobile Sam do very nearly the same thing in the front seat.

"Shut the hell up, rocks for brains," Pietro finally said.

Lance pointed down at the seat, but the smile had apparently moved Sam into action. He interrupted the scene by stepping into the circle of people gathered near Pietro and said, "He had a point before. We gotta get Wanda out as fast as we can, animal-people or not. Can you draw us the passage, Pietro? Or near as you can get?"

Ororo smiled at the boy, and saw Scott do the same as he agreed and attempted to further the plan. "That's a great idea. We'll take two teams—,"

But the plan got no further. Because the plan started to shake.

Bamf!

Nightcrawler appeared on the ceiling before Ororo could theorize about the sudden shaking, tail flipping about restlessly, mop of indigo hair hanging directly downward from his face. He looked rather like a furry blue… troll doll, really.

She'd keep that observation to herself. But it wasn't entirely inaccurate.

"Company!" Kurt announced through the acrid smoke that heralded his arrival.

Kitty's head suddenly appeared before her, through the side of the jet and just beyond Lance's still-leaning form. "And it isn't the friendly kind. Magneto at two-o-clock."

She pulled the rest of herself inside completely before elaborating with scrunched up nose, "And I swear to god, he's wearing _Dockers_."

* * *

Jean-Paul had rarely been under such strain of suppression in his entire life. And though it had not been so long at a mere eighteen years, he knew very well that there had been enough suppression in it for the average eighty-year-old. But today… today won the prize. 

Scott had helped him, though when he thought of their little chat now it actually threatened to embarrass him. Rogue had been most supportive on the way here. But there was no one who wouldn't forgive him if he couldn't quite lose the thought of his sister and her cowardly betrayal. Her choice to lose what made her a mutant. A choice that meant that… that what? That she was no longer his sister?

That was what it felt like. And to Jean-Paul… she might as well have ripped out his heart.

With that torn out, what had been left to crack in half when he'd found Pietro hiding half starved and dying of thirst, huddled in a small crevasse to escape his hunters? Some small game animal who couldn't run for his life anymore, but couldn't bear to leave his family behind.

Jean-Paul felt for his position. But more than that… he felt for _him_. Seeing Pietro in such a state… cracked lips and bruised skin… ashen and shuddering and fevered…

He suppressed a shiver every time he though of it during Pietro's entire mock debriefing, once Pietro had recovered some of his stamina from Storm's blessed Gatorade Feed. He wanted to take Pietro and run, hide him somewhere no one could ever find him, then get him back his sister and take him home happy. The ferocity of this protective instinct was magnified beyond anything Jeanne-Marie had ever awakened in him. It was burning him up from the inside out.

But he stood still and forced out sarcastic comments. Even though every time Pietro's eyes connected with his, he saw something beautiful, familiar and horrifying there. Felt it add to the fire in his belly.

He was peripherally aware that the increased protectiveness was surely a byproduct of his estrangement with his sister and compounded by Pietro's disturbingly fragile state when he'd found him. But that knowledge really didn't make it any fucking easier to handle.

But his suppression was not for the benefit of his fellow X-Men. It was for Pietro. If one of them spoke, the other would break. And that was the beautiful, familiar, horrific thing he saw when he caught Pietro's glance. Until this was all over… they had to behave as if that terrible thing wasn't there between them. Wanda depended on it. And Pietro would not lose his sister today, Jean-Paul was absolutely certain of that. He'd handle that himself, if he had to.

When Pietro stood himself up to stretch and winced, Jean-Paul had almost cracked there and then. Luckily, Lance had verbally bitchslapped the stubborn little creature… but it was fairly telling, Jean-Paul supposed, that with the threat of Magneto (in Dockers? Good god…) imminent, he was more concerned about Pietro being able to stand up straight.

He pulled Pietro by the wrist until he was standing against his side, then slid an arm around his waist. The jet rocked around them, but Jean-Paul hardly cared. "Should I get you out of here?" he asked, not wanting to look Pietro in the eye just yet.

Pietro simply watched the hatch, which was shuddering violently. X-Men and Brotherhood were scrambling all around them, but the two of them stood, watching, Jean-Paul making sure Pietro kept his feet under him.

"No," Pietro answered, after an ungodly long pause for him. "I gotta stay."

Jean-Paul did not ask him again. Partially because he knew the answer was final—there was a rare assertiveness in Pietro's tone. One that was grounded rather than arbitrary and flaunting.

But also partially because the hatch was ripped off the X-Jet only seconds later. There was a great groan as it came off the hinges and a crash that sounded nearly a half a kilometer away as it landed. And then Magneto appeared in the gaping hole in the Jet's side.

Jean-Paul had never seen the man before, but he was instantly struck by the obvious genetic links between him and his children. Those eyes. Both of them had those eyes. But Pietro… he was a streamlined version of his father. Broad powerful shoulders, but instead of staying broad and overtly powerful, Pietro tapered off into a swimmer's physique. Magneto was simply… imposing. He had that same gorgeous shade of silver hair, but something about the set of his jaw, the expression of anger and demanding on his face was… so very, very Wanda.

Funny though—he certainly hadn't pictured him in khakis. Pleated ones, at that. Sweet Christ.

All fashion issues aside, despite the mad display of power and imposition before him, Jean-Paul was not afraid of this man. Magneto was not getting Pietro. And that was the end of the story.

"Come with me immediately, Pietro," Magneto boomed, completely ignoring the other occupants of the X-Jet scattered about in a vague attack pattern, prepared for a full onslaught of magnetism.

Pietro raised two silver eyebrows, like he'd never heard anything more insane/hilarious in his entire life. "You're out of your fucking mind, old man."

Magneto clenched his hands into fists and the Jet began to shake again. Jean-Paul kept watching him, sizing him up, trying to discover any immediate weaknesses… but he found none. He looked over his shoulder to Scott.

Cyclops stood with bent knees, hand to his visor switch, ready to let loose. He was not looking anywhere but at the threat before him.

Jean-Paul returned his attention to the angry old man before him just in time to watch his face curl up in anger as he replied to his son.

"You will stop this game immediately and come with me."

Jean-Paul felt his brow furrow. Something was… not right here. He'd never encountered Magneto before, but he now saw what Pietro meant when he said that he thought his father had been mindwiped. This was no egomaniacal supervillain bent on mutant supremacy. This was just an angry father whose son had disobeyed father and made him look a fool in front of his friends.

The confusion was not his alone. Lance was very near him, and Jean-Paul practically felt him relax. He threw him a glance and was met with one of similar, but far magnified confusion. Lance clearly thought they should be avoiding flying metal pointy things by now, from the look on his face.

"Magnus, please," Storm stepped forward, holding one hand out in front of her in a kind of vague sign of truce. "Hear what the boy has to say."

Magneto redirected his attention to Storm, brow knitting. "How do you know my middle name? Pietro," he now glanced back to his son, "what have you told these people?"

"Erik," she tried again, taking another step nearer to him. When he did not react with more than a look, she continued, "Things are not as they seem. We are not here to steal Pietro, or to help him harm you. We rescued him when he was being hunted by one of Sinister's henchmen."

"Hunted…," Mangeto seemed to chew on the word for a moment.

Jean-Paul snorted, unable to help himself. Christ, Pietro obviously didn't get his _speed _from the man.

Blue eyes, astoundingly cold for being so dark, whipped in his direction now. "You find this funny, boy?"

"I find it idiotic," Jean-Paul informed him, holding Pietro a little tighter with one arm. Pietro did not fight it. "Look at your son, for the love of god. I found him hiding in a crevasse on the other side of the mountain, being hunted by that animal of Sinister's." The words practically choked out of him. But he told himself it sounded more like spitting than anything else.

"Scalphunter…," Erik said, quietly. Then he looked up and over his shoulder as Wolverine entered behind him.

Logan leaned on the edge of the massive hole in the hull and crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't worry. He's no one's problem anymore. But we'd better look to that daughter of yours real soon."

Lance piped up then to say, "Pietro, maybe you and daddy should have a little talk."

And he walked right past Magneto and Logan, and out the door. Fred and Todd on his heels.

Scott nodded at Kitty, Kurt and Rogue, who followed Logan right back out the way he'd come in.

Magneto was still standing there, brow knitted heavily. Obviously completely flummoxed. Jean-Paul and Pietro stood facing him, arms around each other.

Storm ventured nearer to Magneto and put a hand on his shoulder. "Just listen to what he has to say… you have nothing to lose, only to gain."

Magneto eyed his son carefully. Shrewdly.

Jean-Paul could see that he was no fool. This man had misgivings about his position already, or he could and would simply destroy their plane and make off with Pietro—or, at least, attempt to. Pietro shuddered slightly and Jean-Paul instinctively looked over at him.

Their eyes met and Jean-Paul stopped breathing. Pietro looked positively terrified.

"You may go," Magneto said. Jean-Paul pulled his eyes off of Pietro's with something disturbingly like to pain and saw that the man had been speaking to him.

"I think not," he said, quite plainly.

Magneto started to look angry again, but Pietro spoke with a sudden and false bravado. "JP stays. Let's talk."

* * *

Charles rubbed at his temple with one hand and held the picture in the other. 

Perhaps he'd grown far too cautious. Perhaps he'd lost all heart. Perhaps these past years had jaded him beyond what was acceptable. Perhaps… perhaps he needed to depend on his people a little more, lest he lose them.

He knew now that what Scott had tried to tell him was truth—the attack on their sanctuary here had been more preemptive than it had been purposefully entrapping.

He should have trusted Jean-Paul's instincts—but he knew the root of the boy's feelings in this matter. And that had made his instinct suspect. And now Magnus's children were out there, and Magnus himself was most likely mindwiped, according to the latest communication from Transia.

In retrospect, he'd made the wrong decisions.

He thumbed the image in his hand, running along the edge of the brass frame, feeling its ridges and bumps absently as his mind wandered through the events of the last few weeks. Caution had worked against him this time—he'd been so certain it could not be what it seemed, so certain they should wait to see what it was Magnus had planned for them before they leapt into his newest obvious trap. Cleverly laid, perhaps, but…

It would not be the first time Magnus had used his children against them.

There was a knock on the study door and Xavier put the picture to the side with a final glance.

David had his mother's eyes.

Come in, Jeanne-Marie, he swept across the surface of the girl's shattered mind to give her the message and collect his preliminary data. She grew worse by the hour, since she'd discovered what her genetic therapy had done to her joint powers with her brother. He'd noted her "talking to herself" in her head all day now, and felt the split there clearly. Charles was afraid there would be only one course of action in the end… but he was hoping there would be a way around that.

The door opened and Charles saw and felt Angel's presence with her. Warren kissed her forehead in goodbye and Jeanne-Marie turned to enter the study.

Charles caught Warren's eyes and felt the extreme sorrow hanging around the already somber boy's head. He opened up a little more and immediately saw that this crushing sadness surrounding Warren was indeed due to his feelings of responsibility and, yes, genuine affection and even love for Jeanne-Marie.

Xavier offered a soft, encouraging smile. I'm glad to see you up and around, Warren.

Warren managed a smile in return. But it was extremely forced.

Jeanne-Marie closed the door behind her and Charles put Warren out of his mind for the moment. The task at hand would require all he had. Jeanne-Marie sat herself in the lone chair before his desk and looked at him. Expectantly, but demurely. As if she felt it would be rude to meet his eyes, or ask him what he had planned for this session.

"Let's begin with you today, Jeanne-Marie," he said aloud.

She nodded, still silent, watching with those icy blue eyes the twins shared. "What should I begin with?"

"Tell me about your procedure."

She seemed to retreat back into her seat and shut down almost instantly.

They'd discussed this genetic therapy in her last session, both with and without her brother's adamant input. Xavier had tended to agree with Jean-Paul in the matter—however, Jeanne-Marie's fear was crippling indeed. The fact that she'd been willing and proactive enough to take steps to help herself… he had taken that much as a good sign. The girl was eighteen, however, and that meant she was no one's ward but her own. All he could do at the time was advise her to wait for some further developments with the technology and keep up with her sessions in the mean time.

It had not been enough for Jeanne-Marie, and Xavier had known it wouldn't be. And now here they were.

"Jeanne-Marie, I need you to—," he stopped abruptly when he felt her switch over. It was like a sudden turn of the page, as if someone had dropped a new slide into the projector. The backwardness, the shy tendencies, the guilt, the fear were all gone. Replaced with confrontation, pugnacity and pure… playfulness.

"Don't call me that," she smiled at him overly sweetly, suddenly leaning forward with one elbow on the arm of the chair, her chin resting on her fisted hand. "Don't mistake me for that sappy little creature, Professor."

Xavier kept his expression even, his tone calm and soothing. He'd never seen her make this violent of a switch, and with so little provocation. Now she was retreating from the smallest pressure into this "Aurora" persona—or this Aurora persona was seizing particularly weak moments as her opportunity to take control. What baffled Charles slightly was the knowledge Aurora had just expressed of another separate entity within the same body. That was… impossible. But there it was—Xavier could feel the truth of it just as surely as he'd heard it.

"Aurora," he said.

She nodded, still smiling. "I'm so much more fun."

This was his worst case scenario—the suppressed personas had both emerged wholly, separate and at war. And the more balanced Jeanne-Marie was nowhere to be found. He was searching her out, hoping she might be somewhere in there… but she had retreated so far behind the other two—the weeping Jeanne-Marie and the bold Aurora—that it would be quite the odyssey to retrieve her.

He would speak to Jean and Jean-Paul about it, upon the boy's return. In the meantime, he would have Jeanne-Marie Beaubier declared incapable of making her own decisions and remanded to his care.

All there was left to do today was to discover who this Aurora was.

* * *

Erik strolled into the Laboratory complex through the proverbial front door, hands in his pockets, face composed. 

There was nothing for it but this, the plan of action they'd developed and the agreement they'd reached. The picture the X-Men and his son had painted for him was a grim one indeed—but not one he could definitively say was madness. Erik did not remember his children being such fine actors that their initial and violent reaction to his partnership with Essex could have been a show, but he'd accepted his partner's explanations. However… Magda had been plaguing him lately as well.

She seemed… off. Scared, somehow. This was not the brilliant gypsy witch he'd married years ago, this meek, frightened creature. She seemed suddenly not to know him, though he could clearly remember all events leading up to their sojourn here in Transia—the country the twins (and poor dear Anya, god rest her soul) had been born in. All his memories of her, in fact, seemed faded—photographs on someone else's wall.

He knew his love for her was real. But the X-Men had not denied that. They'd simply implied that their history with Essex had been… reengineered. Come to think of it, they'd implied that _his _history with Essex was fabricated… but they'd not said a word of Magda. In fact, Pietro had been decidedly tight-lipped about his mother.

Odd. The two of them had always gotten on easily. Hadn't they…?

Erik shook his head in frustration. He would know shortly, just the same. The plan was simple. He would return to the Laboratory and inform Essex that Pietro had escaped and Scalphunter was dead, then demand to see his daughter and discuss their deplorable behavior with her. If what the X-Men had told him could explain the wrongness he'd been feeling in nearly everything he'd encountered since their last experiment, then things would be, for lack of a better word, wrong. Pietro claimed that Wanda would let him know. Unless she'd been brainwashed "again."

His son had refused, despite the strictest admonitions, to explain the use of that term to him in this particular case. The interruption of his irritating little friend, identified by the X-Man leader called Cyclops as one Northstar, had irritated him into yelling. And made him change the subject entirely.

Either way, if things were amiss in the Laboratory, as they so vehemently and confidently claimed they would be, he would contact them and the plan would move forward. What that plan was on their end was not revealed to him—a prudent decision on the part of Cyclops. But they would help him to free his family from this influence and transport them back to reality, as it were.

And if they were lying to him, he would seek retribution of his own. But he could not imagine Pietro turning against him in this fashion. It was one thing that was not watercolor washed out in his memories… Pietro was a reliable source, despite their many arguments. The boy's devotion was dogged.

He was nearing the large metal doors to the laboratory, previously scarred and warped by his daughter's violent entry only a few short hours ago. Rather than step around the debris, Erik simply raised one hand as a guide and tossed it all against the right side of the entryway. It fell with an enormous clatter that sounded uncontrolled.

It was not, however.

Erik stepped past the pile of rubble and immediately felt his trepidation and anger rising. There on the ground was a very familiar, very scrawny dark haired man… dead. There was no mistaking the angle his neck was bent at—it had been crushed.

Essex's green-haired crony looked up at him. She'd obviously been trying to make a swift exit with the corpse of this unfortunate man when she'd heard the clatter of metal from the entryway. She looked caught between simply running on her own and trying to drag this man with her.

"What have you done to him?" Erik asked, quite simply. He was not accustomed to finding dead men in his Laboratory. But if this was how Essex operated, it certainly lent some credence to the wild tale he'd found himself believing so recently.

"Wasn't me," she snarled. Why she should be snarling at him was beyond Erik. Perhaps she was angry at him for what his son had done to her. Really, he was surprised she was up and moving again at all after that crushing blow Pietro had dealt her… she certainly didn't look as if she was in any kind of shape for it. "Talk to the boss."

"He made it past security," Essex's vaguely oily voice said from the other side of the room. Erik looked over to see him entering from the direction of his own quarters. "Your daughter must have hexed it into nonfunctionality. He's just some rabble looking to steal something of value."

"You killed him?" Erik asked, still perfectly calmly. Despite the man's unreadable red eyes and stony vampiric countenance, Erik had no doubt that he was lying. The story was simply ludicrous.

"You were not here to help me," he smiled apologetically. "I expected you would be gone longer…," his gaze shifted to the empty space behind Erik, "and with your son."

"He escaped," Erik replied. "I need to speak with Wanda to uncover his whereabouts."

"Wanda is out at the moment—she would not submit so we had to use drugs to calm her. She'll do you little good."

Erik felt his face growing hot. Little hairs on the back of his neck raising. It was bad enough he'd had to allow his children to be manhandled previously, but he'd assumed they were in the wrong. This was simply… preposterous. Who was this fool to inject his daughter with strange drugs and mistreat her on a whim? It was an outrage!

"She had the collar on, she was no threat."

Essex showed no sign of nervousness—he met Erik's glare head on with one of his own unnatural ones. "She would not stop screaming in Romani and we had an intruder," he gestured to the man being dragged away by the crippled Vertigo.

"I know that man," Erik watched the body disappear through a doorway, probably on its way to the crypts… if it was lucky. A strange sensation, almost tingling in his stomach, spoke of some sort of association with the man. Of an uncomfortable nature. Or, perhaps, of dislike. He was absolutely certain he knew him…

"You know nothing of the sort."

Erik snapped his eyes back up to Essex's, returning completely to the matter at hand. He would not be spoken to in this manner. "Tell me where my daughter is."

"Lensherr, you're tired. I told you—,"

"Enough."

He said it quietly, but the action that followed was anything but. Erik raised both of his hands to shoulder level, palms facing outward. And pushed.

There was a great screeching of metal as he rolled away the proverbial stone, ripping the doors on both side of the Laboratory apart. Both were Essex's "side experiment" rooms—smaller and less important than this main chamber. Erik had hardly bothered with them aside from his initial tour. But that was where the drugs, cots and containment chambers were kept.

He hurtled the doors toward the center of the room he stood in—directly toward Essex—and let them drop. One by one he ripped each piece of metal equipment out of its place, first on the right room, then the left. He hurled them toward the center of the room, directly into Essex. Huge chunks of metal followed the doors, machines and cages and cloning tubs flying through the air faster and faster, creating a huge pile up on top of Essex. Water, various chemicals from the vats spread out across the floor like small rivers in the cobblestone floor. Electricity sparked as wires were pulled out of the sockets or walls that held them. Faster and faster. Erik thought of nothing else but finding his daughter as he worked. He simply emptied the rooms of all metal contents…

And there she was. Lying pinned down to a bed by over-tight restraints. Head lolling to the side.

Erik stopped pulling things through the air at that instant and started toward her. Essex was buried—he certainly would not have survived such trauma. And if he had, it would take him ages to dig himself out. "Wanda," he almost whispered, his anger beginning to boil rapidly within him. That had been nothing. There was so much more damage he could do if she was injured…

"Father," she formed the word carefully. "He… kidnapped… you…"

His heart sank. Wanda closed her eyes and he undid the metal fasteners on her restraints with a thought. More carefully, he extracted her from the metal collar around her neck that had been choking her beautiful powers—

There was a sudden great explosion in the main Laboratory. Erik immediately whirled and grabbed hold of each and every piece of metal in the room. They had all exploded indeed—directly outward from the center of their pileup…

And there stood Essex, untouched and glaring. His eyes even brighter than before.

"Pietro…," this from Wanda behind him.

Erik hit the button on the telecom unit the X-Men had given him. He didn't need their help to finish this. But he thought that after what he'd been through for his family today, Pietro ought to know.

* * *

AN: … What? Did you think I was dead or something? I said I'd be back! 

First things first—thank you thank you to the marvelous Sue Penkivech for her continued commitment to beta reading this story, despite the fact that it's been on hold for an ungodly long time. Whurd, yo.

I used to respond to everyone individually here, but if I did that this time we'd have about twenty pages of apology. So let me just kinda keep it short. If you actually stuck with this thing from back when it was seemingly abandoned, words fail me. Funny coming from someone who just wrote a big ass chapter wherein nothing happened (as seems to be my custom even after a disturbingly long hiatus), but true. It's been an age, but I love you just the same, if not more.

To those who discovered it in the interim and so kindly reviewed/emailed me asking where the hell I was, I am also extremely grateful. I was completely bowled over when I came back after nearly a year to check up on things here and saw the number of reviews for this third installment of my weirdass EvoVerse creation.

To those who might possibly have stumble into this for the first time after this update, if there are any, thanks for taking a chance on a really freaking long story like this one.

I hope I've become a better writer since then, but feel free to let me know if I just got more craptacular! I'd like to thank Keane and Snow Patrol for both releasing new albums, by the way. That's my TTW music, and they both had new albums within a few months of each other—the last of which I got the day I started writing this again.

Music is all important when it comes to these things, you know.


	17. Metal and Fire

Chapter 17: Metal and Fire

Jeanne-Marie was exactly where Warren knew he'd find her—in the Library. But this time, she wasn't poring over books on Caravaggio and Rembrandt. Instead she was simply standing there, looking out the window. Looking as if her mind were a million miles away.

For a minute, he just watched her. Pale skin glowing in the afternoon sun that poured through the window in a rush. As if it couldn't wait to touch her. Jeanne-Marie Beaubier attracted light—he'd felt that since he'd first met her, even if he hadn't known that was what it was back then. Seeing her now, standing there, silent and beautiful… it was suddenly so obvious. She was a creature of light. It was in her, it was all around her, it clung to her.

Whatever the Professor wanted to say about the darkness inside her… Warren knew the truth. Jeanne-Marie—or Aurora, he'd call her whatever she wanted to be called—had brought light to him. He couldn't stop loving her for it even if he wanted to.

He ruffled his wings slightly. They were feeling restless from so long holding still. He hadn't been out to fly since the attack, and that last hour in Xavier's office had been icing on the cake of pain.

She heard and turned to look over her shoulder, paused for a minute with her face half in the light and half in shadow. He smiled, gently. Caravaggio couldn't have placed her better.

"Hey, Aurora," he offered, starting to limp over to her. His ankle wasn't hurting so bad, so he'd left the crutches in the hall. He hoped Hank didn't catch him at that… or Jean. But they really were impossible to maneuver, what with the wings and all.

"Oh, don't," she waved her hands at him, letting him know he ought to stop hobbling. She was in front of him in seconds and carefully threw her arms around him. "How are you feeling darling?"

He put his arms around her. Her hair smelled like… strawberry? Something sweet and comforting and fruity. He ignored the changes in her he could already feel. Something in the way she'd walked toward him—as if she was ready to meet him head on. Something in the way she spoke—confident and sure. There was nothing subtle about it… she was different since she'd been in there with Xavier.

He'd seen her like this before. But this was more complete. This was obvious. This was for real.

"I feel great," he said, deciding he'd ignore the pain in his ankle. "How about you?"

She pulled away slightly and looked up at him, still smiling. So certain.

She was still all light. She was still her. She was just more… Aurora.

He let his hands drop to her sides, wrapped his fingers around hers. It was all the same to him. He knew it. He'd loved her when she was shy and scared, and he loved her when she was demanding and playful. The two sides shared more than a few characteristics. Playfulness, intelligence, humor… and that light. Sometimes he felt like he should squint when he looked at her. Sometimes it was like looking at the sun. It hurt him, though he wasn't sure exactly where.

"Yes, of course," she grinned up at him. "What did Xavier want to talk to you about?"

Her tone suggested that she knew and found it amusing. Warren smiled right back. Cleverness. There was another trait she had, no matter what kind of mood she was in. "Well, you for one." He told her what she already knew.

She cocked her head and led him gently to a nearby loveseat, "And what did he have to say?"

"Honestly?" It was a rhetorical question. He sat himself in the seat and she made herself comfortable nearby, her leg just barely brushing against his.

She looked excellent in jeans. Particularly jeans that fit… like that. God help him. He was going to hell.

"He said that you seem determined to remain stable, and he doesn't foresee things changing as easily as they used to. Apparently… Aurora…," he wasn't sure how much she could handle. Xavier had suggested he not talk to her too much about it, since she would only claim not to understand and it would probably frustrate Warren in the end. But that seemed so ridiculous when he was looking her in the eye.

She was no little girl. She had some problems… some very big problems, yeah. But she was a grown woman. He wouldn't treat her like a child. "You're happy where you are. I mean… with who you are."

She only smiled, looking satisfied. It was a beautiful, slightly smug expression. It made him want to kiss her. "What an investigator that man is. Let's rename his office 221B Baker Street."

For a moment Warren was truly flummoxed. Two-two-one-bee… oh god. Sherlock Holmes! He laughed out loud and leaned back on his wings to let them cradle him in the loveseat, still holding one of Jeanne-Marie (Aurora)'s hands. Apparently she'd gotten mildly sarcastic as well.

But he wasn't scared. She was still _her. _

"That was kinda my thought," he admitted his agreement. "But I think he was playing the dad, too," he continued, a little more thoughtfully. "You've been through a lot. He just wanted to make sure I wasn't messing around. Feel me out." Make sure he was committed. Which Warren could honestly appreciate—although Xavier's judgment had come under question recently, the man hadn't lost it completely. He was looking out for his own. Which made the decision Warren had recently come to, pertaining to the X-Men and his role within the organization, all the easier for him.

She grinned, "To keep me from being hurt? Oh, isn't he adorable!" she appeared genuinely amused, and possibly touched by the news of Xavier's concern. She appeared to have no such qualms about his intentions… but he felt the need to check, just the same.

"You know you don't have to worry about me, right?"

The smile never left her lips, and she squeezed his hand. It reminded him of… how they used to be. Reassured him that it wasn't gone, just changed. And all relationships changed… they only failed when the people didn't change _together. _"I know, Warren. That's why I love you."

And at that moment, any leftover misgivings Warren might've had about Jeanne-Marie Beaubier were swept away as if by a tidal wave. Just to hear her say those words. She said it plainly, matter-of-factly. As if she hadn't just made the angels sing, or his heart burst inside his chest, or his head start to spin.

"I love you too," he finally choked out. "I really do."

She didn't appear to be having the same difficulty breathing as he did. As if she'd accepted it long ago, with that simple grace she leant nearly everything she did. She juts grinned at him and said, "You'd better."

His face was starting to hurt. He wanted to kiss her… but he thought that might be… a little too cheesy. The moment was already candycoated, and he was very aware that he was enjoying it a little too much to be manly. But to hell with it. How could he not?

She laughed at the expression on his face, or maybe how tightly he was holding his hand. He couldn't really tell. But it wasn't cruel, just… joyful. A little indulgent, maybe. But he didn't mind one little bit. It snapped him back into reality and he laughed too, softly. "There's another thing I wanted to talk about. I'm going to stay."

She looked up, eyes flashing brightly as she realized what he meant. "With the X-Men?"

He nodded, already pleased with her reaction. The intentness of her gaze told him she was happy with that implication. It was just what he'd hoped for. "Full time," he affirmed. "I might have to break it to my parents eventually… but I think it's something I have to do."

She pulled her hand out of his and clapped happily, face lit up in a perfect smile again. "This is wonderful! We'll have so much time together!"

And, Warren reminded himself, he'd be doing something with what he'd been given. And he wouldn't be on his own anymore. He could make a difference here.

But if he was honest with himself, the extra time with Jeanne-Marie wasn't exactly _just _an added bonus.

"I'm glad you're glad," he admitted, still grinning but now with relief. "I wonder if you'd mind meeting my parents when they come back to New York for Christmas? I mean, before I tell them. I'd like them to know more of us… and know you."

Not that he was planning on telling his parents any time soon. But he'd have to eventually. He'd have to face up to who he was. But one step at a time.

"I'd be honored," she squeezed his hand again, quickly. "Won't this be fun?"

He felt his smile turn slightly wry. "Probably not. But they'll be in London till Christmas, so around then."

"Of course, whenever you like."

As stable as she really did seem… he found it remarkable in that moment. Looking at her, happy, eager, so alive and unafraid, it seemed impossible for just a second. She was the same, but different. He knew how it was possible, technically speaking… but _how_?

"You _do_ sound a lot better than you did just before you spoke with the Professor," he commented, still in that moment of awe.

"I feel fantastic," she shrugged as if it were nothing. "I guess I just got tired of being run by that mousy little bitch."

He blinked. She was… talking about herself. As if it were someone else.

Xavier had warned him about this… but god, if this wasn't the biggest roller coaster ride of a conversation he'd ever been on. Up, down and all around in ten minute's time.

She continued, oblivious, "I'm not a weak woman, and I was tired of being scared. I'm only worried about my brother and my friends now… have you heard any news?"

His brain stalled momentarily as he tried to digest what she'd just said and the ease with which she'd said it.

He loved her. But he had a long way to go before he'd understand.

"Last I heard," he finally managed, "they were in talks with a brainwashed Magneto."

Aurora pouted, "Jean told me that a few hours ago."

Warren's mind focused for just a moment on those who'd gone to Transia. Mostly on Jean-Paul. He knew he was lucky to have a vote of confidence from Aurora's brother… but he wondered if he'd lost it considering what had happened to them. Jean-Paul knew Warren had been wary of this treatment and tried to convince her not to go through with it… but would that be enough?

And what with Pietro and Wanda… and what he knew was going on in Transia right now… Warren really expected a clip in the jaw when Jean-Paul returned. And he'd heard how Jeanne-Marie had bawled for nearly an entire day, inconsolable, once she'd realized that she couldn't touch her brother anymore. How broken had Jean-Paul been when he'd heard?

"… About your brother…," he ventured, hoping she'd speak on the subject without further prompting. He didn't want to upset her by leading her in a particular direction, and he wasn't sure he could (upset her _or_ lead her). But he didn't want to take more chances than were necessary with her.

She shrugged, as if it were nothing, "Forget it, pretty. He'll recover. He's just under a lot of stress."

He felt his eyebrows raise of their own volition, an outward expression of his sudden disbelief. This was the girl who'd supposedly cried all day yesterday? She seemed almost… callous. The way she'd been with Jean-Paul after her injury not a week before, the way the Beaubiers had clung to each other as if it was keeping them alive… and now she shrugged this off?

"Maybe we could get Langkowski to… work something in reverse."

She narrowed her eyes at him. And he honestly felt… threatened by it. "Absolutely not."

His mouth worked, but no sound came out. He wasn't even sure what to say to that. It wasn't quite a violent reaction… but it brooked no argument, just the same. That was… new.

"I said no, Warren," she said, preemptively. "I will not let her have control again. I will not be weak. Jean-Paul will understand."

Warren simply nodded. He still felt speechless, but forced himself to agree aloud. Even if he didn't agree in his heart. Not one little bit. "Of course. Of course he will."

Alright. Now… he was a little scared.

"Well hello little love birds, how goes the recovery?"

Warren looked up and his stomach dropped into his feet. Of all people at a time like this… the thief had just entered the room, and he looked like he wanted to stay for a little chat.

Maybe now would be a good time to go home and get some of his things. This was really the last thing Warren wanted to deal with right now.

* * *

Jean-Paul was about to drive Rogue half crazy with his mothering. 

Sure he wasn't saying anything much, but did that fool honestly expect Pietro _not _to come along? For a best friend and fuck buddy, or whatever they were calling it these days (god forbid someone should be honest and call them boyfriends), Jean-Paul sure didn't seem to know Pietro all that well.

"Pietro, maybe you should stay—,"

Pietro cut him off, as expected, "Shut up, tinkerbell. I'm _fine_."

They all knew Pietro wasn't fine. But they all knew goddamn well Pietro was coming into that laboratory when they got there. And even Scott couldn't argue with that. Yet that very same conversation had gone back and forth probably ten times while they were all just on the way to the Citadel on the mountain, with only small variations on the theme. But when she said small, she was meaning like… miniscule.

If she wasn't so happy to see them together, god help her but it was true, she would've knocked one of them out just to shut them up.

But _finally _they'd gotten in and out of the castle thing, much to the shock and amazement of the crew who'd been sent there on recon an hour or so back. Rogue included. Sure enough, when Pietro tried to open the door it swung wide. The place definitely looked lived-in, in a weird oversized and medieval way… but there were none of the so-called Knights Pietro kept babbling about to be found.

Rogue wasn't surprised. She didn't think Pietro would lie about his sister being trapped, and that whole Magneto episode had pretty much proven his story straight up. But she wouldn't put it past him to make up something as demented as half-human half-animal Knights that had inducted him into their secret society.

In fact, it was right up his twisted self-centered alley, if she gave it much thought. Which she was trying not to do. She was mostly just glad they had something to focus on, something to _do_, and that they were halfway to getting things back to normal. She was glad to hear Jean-Paul bitching (even though she still wanted to hit him) and she was even glad Pietro was functional again.

When he'd first come in…

Yeah. She didn't much want to think about what he'd looked like then. Rogue had honestly thought that he was… dead. And she was so thrown off by that thought, so incredibly fucking _sad _at it…

Yeah. Not thinking about it. Mission and… stuff. Damn right.

Sam was just ahead of her as they made their way down the tunnels Pietro had lead them to, talking with Scott quietly about The Plan, such as it was. The minute Magneto radioed they were going to bust in and tear shit up. If they were calling that a plan these days, Rogue wasn't gonna argue. Damn fools overplanned everything anyhow, if you asked her.

"Jean-Paul, I can _walk_—,"

"You're favoring your right leg!"

"What the fuck are you—?"

"Quiet," Storm hissed from somewhere behind those two.

Rogue shot a smug grin over her shoulder at Jean-Paul.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She turned back toward the front of the line stretching down the endlessly black underground passage in front of them. Smiling, but smugly. She'd been so worried on the plane over here… man, she was just glad the Bitch was Back.

Suddenly there was a loud blip sound from somewhere in the vicinity of Scott. And everyone froze, breathless, for just a moment.

Nothing. Rogue looked forward, trying to make out Scott's expression in the dark of the tunnel. He looked up, first at Sam, then over at Lance.

"Let's rock this place," Lance growled.

Rogue sighed. Jean-Paul snorted behind her. But she heard a definite, "Let's do it, yo!" from somewhere in the back.

Rogue was one of the first into the fray—she leapt past the massive pile of what she figured used to be the laboratory door and slid along the side of the room, Pietro and Jean-Paul not too far behind her. It took a second for her to figure out just what, exactly, was going on in there… there was a lot of flying metal and loud banging, and a couple of piles of rubble. And what was _supposed _to be the lab, according to Pietro, looked more like a warehouse for scrap.

At the moment she found a decent position for herself, behind a mattress that looked kinda like something she'd seen in hospitals that was leaning up against one of the walls. Best place she cold figure to get away from the whirlwind of metal happening. She was pretty sure that Magneto in Khakis was over by the far wall controlling it, but hell if she could see him very well. And hell if she could see what the whirlwind was centering around—it looked like another pile of metal junk to her. She looked over her shoulder at Pietro and shouted over the various clangs and bangs, "You think you can talk some sense into daddy?"

Pietro opened his mouth, but Scott's voice came over the communicators before he could reply. Pietro looked pretty damn irritated about that, but he didn't get a chance to complain, for once.

"Magneto's over there on the far right, and that's Sinister in the middle of that whirlwind. Storm, see if you can—,"

There was no end to that order, though. Before he ever got to tell Storm what she was supposed to see if she could do, Sinister literally stepped out of that impossible whirlwind of sharp pointy heavy projectiles. Rogue watched, narrowing her eyes in concentration, as he punched what had probably been a very expensive piece of heavy medical equipment as it came careening toward his head. The chunk of metal stopped mid air and literally folded around his fist, then dropped to the ground. Other pieces of debris were bouncing off the guy right and left.

Rogue took a deep breath. She'd never seen him before, not in person… he really did look like some kind of vampire… a vampire with Colossus's powers, or… something. Jesus, he was downright terrifying in a way.

Or he would've been, if Rogue hadn't been trying to figure out just how to take the fucker down and find Wanda so they could get the hell out of here. But if the guy could basically tell Magneto's powers to fuck off like this…

Well, she might just be the girl for the job.

"Storm," Cyke's voice came over the communicator again, "try and distract him so I can get a clear shot, maybe I can do some damage. Avalanche, take your team and find Wanda."

Rogue opened her mouth to ask if Pietro had any suggestions. But she never got that far.

"You little shit," a female voice growled from not so far away.

She spun on her heel, ready to pounce, but Pietro was already on the ground. And the green-haired bitch, who Rogue knew to be the Marauder called Vertigo, was jumping toward him. And she had this _look _on her face. Like she'd never hated anything more than she hated Pietro Maximoff.

Hell. Maybe Pietro really _had _single-handedly kicked all their asses…

Na.

Rogue hit the ground, ready to intercept and knowing that Jean-Paul would take care of Pietro. She lifted her legs in the air in preparation for a little gymnastic stunt—

But a howling ball of fur and slime intercepted her target before it got anywhere near her (or Pietro, for that matter, who was now nowhere to be found, probably somewhere safe thanks to Northstar's scary mad speed.) Vertigo took the hit square in the back and it knocked her out of midair, almost bending her in half. The ball of fur and slime turned out to be a scary conglomerate of Nightcrawler and Toad, who were arguing about something Rogue couldn't and didn't want to understand. Whatever, the bitch was on the ground.

She kipped up to standing and took the three steps separating her from Vertigo in one giant leap. Kurt was standing up nearby, looking mightily pissed off and brushing some slime off his uniform. But his eyes suddenly rolled upward and he staggered as Vertigo raised her head, glaring at him.

Kurt went backwards immediately. Rogue didn't hesitate—Kurt would be fine. He'd had worse falls. She ducked downward and reached out grabbing Vertigo by her wild green hair and jerking backward, hard. "I had about enough of your sickness, lady," she informed her prey. She touched the woman's bare forehead with her other hand, then let her limp body drop to the ground.

A rush hit her and she staggered slightly. Every time was the same, but completely different. This time a wave of anger and hate flushed through her entire body, lit up her veins and left her bitter and all… tight. Her entire body just felt tight and she just wanted to _kill _the sons of bitches who had _fucked _everything up…

Deep breath. Rogue closed her eyes, finding herself in the wash of Danica van Fleet's anger. She pulled herself out of it, pushed away the spoiled, power hungry brat daddy's girl and brought herself back again. Then she opened her eyes.

And almost started laughing. Toad was standing there, hunched over the limp form of Nightcrawler, who he was holding up in his spindly Toady arms. His amber eyes were wide in shock and he seemed to be having some trouble keeping Kurt's head from lulling back at what looked like a breakneck angle. "Uhhh, little help here, Rogue?" he stuttered, sounding truly frightened.

"Get him out of the way," she suggested (alright, more like barked, but it was that or laugh. And there really wasn't time for that crap right now). "And try not to get too much slime in his fur while you're at it."

* * *

Fred reached upward and grabbed a gigantic piece of flying metal out of the air, then cracked it in half and dropped it on the ground. Sam was damn sure to keep right up on him. That boy was his ticket to Wanda, and he wasn't about to let himself get knocked stupid before he found her just because Magneto was having some kind of aneurysm all the sudden. No sir. 

He'd gotten this far, God knew how.

"I think that's her," Lance yelled in his general direction. "There's only one thing left nailed down in there," he nodded toward the gigantic hollow of a room behind Magneto, "And it looks like a bed."

Sam went up on his toes, but Fred was… well, in the way. "If you say so," he agreed. "Let's get it done."

Lance's eyebrows went together in definite amusement, "Did you just say git 'er done?"

Sam felt his jaw drop. "I… uhm…"

"If you did, I swear to god I'll never let you forget it, you big redneck."

"Hey!" Fred protested. "I _like _Larry the Cable Guy!"

Sam was fighting the blush that was rising in his cheeks. He definitely hadn't said "git er done." Even if he kinda thought Larry the Cable Guy was funny too. Like hell he was gonna admit it now that Fred had! In fact, he was actually pretty relieved when a huge, flat piece of metal came whirring through the air in their direction and they had to duck to get away from it.

"Goddamn, that was close," Lance grumbled from nearby somewhere.

"I got something closer for you."

Sam looked upward trying to find the source of that statement. Sure didn't sound like Fred…

Aw shit. Riptide. He was sure looking like someone had tried to feed him to hungry pigs, but it was Riptide just the same. He was standing there all bruised and battered and grinning, holding out some mighty shiny looking knives to them. Like he was offering them.

Sam scrambled to his feet and fell back into a defensive stance, Mr. Logan's lessons coming to him like second nature now. He was ready for this. He should definitely be there. Yeah. He was so totally ready for—

_Shit!_

Sam sprang upward and felt an ominous breeze flash by his face. A flashing hurricane of knives came at him and near 'bout took his head off, but he'd moved just in time. He heard Lance scream (more like yelp, but that was probably as close as Lance came), and when he landed the ground was shaking under his feet. He spun to see Riptide whirl, off balance from the mini-earthquake Avalanche was throwing at him. But he still whirled right into Lance, tearing Lance's uniform almost in half and clean off one side of his torso.

And there was blood. A long gash in Lance's side that… well, it looked like some kind of special effect on a slasher movie. But instead of making Sam feel sick, it made him _angry. _

Just before he could spring into Cannonball mode and take down Riptide himself, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Wolverine standing beside him. "You get to Wanda," he nodded sideways. Sam peered around him as Blob picked up a chalk-white Avalanche, like he was so much dry firewood. And sure enough, Lance had been right. That was Wanda in that bed. Strapped down.

Sam's throat clenched and he nodded. Wolverine went after Riptide, and Sam rocketed to the other side of the room.

* * *

Scott hunkered down low, edging along the wall opposite Magneto to get as close as he could to the emerging figure of Sinister. Eyes blazing red, the mad scientist was still punching gigantic blocks of metal at a nice leisurely pace, as if he were simply waiting for Magneto to wear himself out. 

Scott didn't like what that indicated about Sinister's abilities and endurance. Not one little bit.

He also knew that Sinister was not oblivious to the entrance of the X-Men—he'd seen the man's eyes follow Vertigo over to where Rogue, Quicksilver and Northstar were setting up shop, and he knew Sinister was well aware of Wolverine following Blob, Avalanche and Cannonball toward where they hoped to find Wanda.

Now if only he could get a shot and be sure he wouldn't end up hitting some spinning metal and sending it into one of his own people, maybe they could calm this situation down. And then get the hell out of Dodge.

He nodded at Storm and she threw back her arms, causing his hair to blow in front of his visor wildly (_Really_ needed that haircut). She split through the storm of metal and created a kinda of tunnel for herself, a path directly to Sinister. Scott slid further down against the wall and put his hand to his visor. He turned the juice all the way up. He wasn't taking any chances with this one, once he got his shot.

_If _he got his shot.

If all else failed, he'd just blow the roof off this mountain and they could make their exit that way. Sure, it'd damage the Transian countryside a little, but it was a small price to pay to get his people out ASAP. This had a funny smell on it. A vendetta kind of smell. Not that he ever was, but Scott was not fucking around this time—vendetta was something he didn't want his people within a hundred miles of.

"Essex, stop," Storm commanded, in that way only a weather goddess could manage. Scott felt all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up—partially from the static electricity crackling around her in her protective weather vortex, and partially just at the sound of her voice. Sometimes he thought the woman was pure Bene Gesserit, with The Voice and all.

"You cannot win this battle—stop and talk to us!" Storm continued.

Sinister turned to look at her, but Scott could read absolutely nothing on the man's cold, undead-looking face. And those red eyes gave absolutely nothing away either.

Scott glanced up at the ceiling, which was already cracking slightly. He figured out why when he felt the ground moving faintly under his feet—Avalanche was really pissed off, somewhere. He steadied his feet and looked back downward, focusing in on Sinister. The man was still watching Storm, his apparent force field causing random metal objects to bounce off him now and again. Scott almost had the shot…

When a random woman appeared between them; dark haired, pretty, and completely freaking out of place. Just like she'd wandered in from some other room in her sleep, and had only just awakened. To this… of all things. "Who is that?" Scott barked into his communicator. "Get her out of here, someone. Shadowcat, are you close enough?"

But the woman was wandering toward Magneto now, and the metal that had been flying through the air dropped to the ground suddenly and with a painful ringing sound. It echoed through the lab for a moment and Scott closed his eyes to try and get rid of the headache. When he opened them, Sinister was facing the sleepwalker lady… and holding his hands out in front of him. Magneto was doing the same on the far side of the room, but in a welcoming way. "Magda, hurry!" he yelled.

And it all made sense, suddenly. Wherever the hell she'd come from, Magda Lensherr, Wanda and Pietro's mother, had wandered into the middle of this at the worst possible time ever. God. Dammit.

A loud burst of sound and energy came from Sinister suddenly, obviously intended for the now unprotected Magneto. "I'm on it!" Kitty's voice came in response, almost simultaneous with the energy burst.

To Scott's eternal surprise, she was on the opposite side of the room from where he'd expected her to be on. And her idea of being "on it" was trying to take out Sinister herself, apparently. She hit his back just as the crackling energy beam left Sinister's hands, phasing him halfway into the floor then sitting on his back.

But it was too late. The energy bolt slammed into Magda Lensherr's back, folding her in half, then leaving her curled into a ball on the floor.

Scott grabbed at the wall behind him as the floor started to tear itself up and all the metal in the room suddenly crashed toward its center, and Sinister, at once.

This was not turning out to be his day at all.

* * *

"It's fine Remy. How goes it with you?" The Quebecois beauty replied, smiling sweetly. Remy had heard some rumors about her since he'd been around. And he had to admit, they were intriguing. 

But mostly, he'd interrupted them to irritate Worthington. Not that he wished the man any ill will… just that he was a curiosity. And Remy was stunningly bored, having been stuck in the medbay for an entire day just because some jackass had ripped his arm up real good.

So maybe he'd have himself a little experiment.

"Fantastic," he answered Jeanne-Marie's question. "Remy just got a few scrapes up his arm, s'all. Nothin' he ain't seen before, eh?"

"Must you talk about yourself in third person?" Worthington groused, looking up at him from his perch next to his sweet little _fille_.

Interesting reaction. He knew damn well that the man was still sore about that incident with the spider stone and his crap security… but it was too hard not to poke at the wound to get a reaction at times like these. He never thought he'd admit it, but he was actually missing John's inane questions and company at the moment. And with the Chaton disappeared to Transia to help the others out, his options for entertainment were severely limited. It was either search for the barely recovered Johnny god knew where in this huge house, or come up here and irritate Worthington.

As far as Remy LeBeau was concerned, his choice was clear.

"Come on now, Wings, some of us never went to fancy private schools. We gotta embellish with what we got to work with," he made himself comfortable in the first chair he saw, sprawling his legs out in front of him but careful to watch the sling around his neck. Which contained his wrecked arm. Which he was not altogether so happy about, as a matter of fact.

He was hoping Riptide would take some pretty serious injury during this whole adventure. Then he'd feel a little better about it.

To his surprise however, the moment Gambit got comfortable Angel stood up, ruffling his wings with what was definitely irritation. Remy had no idea how the man managed to communicate that through wing-language, but it was obviously something Worthington had practiced. "I have to go home and get some things. I'll be back soon."

He wasn't talking to Remy. In fact, Worthington was pretending Remy did not exist, as far as he could tell.

Not very polite for a high society type, was he?

" Alright, I'll be here," Jeanne-Marie smiled up at Worthington, then looked back to him. "Remy, you're staying too?"

He took her to mean staying as in joining up with the X-Clan. So Gambit nodded, "That's right, _chere_."

"I'm glad to hear it," she told him. Genuinely. Remy could read a woman pretty well, if he did say so himself, and Jeanne-Marie Beaubier was looking pretty damn honest at the moment. Smiling and bright eyed. Nice eyes, too—little bit cold, but kinda… wild.

He'd heard some whispers about her in the medlab, sure. Something about her and her Prettier Than Thou brother and some kinda crazy. But she seemed fine to him, anyhow.

Gambit smiled back, tipping his head in his most gentlemanly fashion. "What's not to be glad 'bout?"

Worthington made some kind of strangling noise at that point, then ruffled his feathers and started out of the room just like that.

Huh. Well that wasn't what he'd been going for. Jeanne-Marie followed Worthington with her eyes until he was out of the room, then looked down at the floor. She was narrowing her eyes, like she was thinking fairly hard about something… and something not really all that pleasant.

Gambit felt his brow furrow as he watched her. It was like some black cloud had suddenly centered over the girl, and she was… someone else. Just like that. He had a funny feeling in the back of his head, like he got sometimes.

Either way, he wasn't taking his chances by asking her to entertain him at the moment. And really… he couldn't just let this go, could he? "'Scuse me, chere, Remy gon' see what's wrong with this birdbrain."

She looked up at him, eyes slightly wider. Like she was surprised to see him there. But she didn't say anything as he stood to go, just nodded at him.

Gambit suddenly got the feeling that she… bit. Which was odd—he'd surely never expected a sweet thing like Jeanne-Marie Beaubier to give him _that _kind of message. Huh. He had to wonder what'd happened all the sudden.

He didn't say anything else, just followed Worthington's strangely light footsteps to the foyer. The superchicken was on his way out the front door when Gambit finally spotted him. He hurried his steps, in that manner he'd cultivated so long ago that didn't _appear _to be him speeding up at all. Just a subtle elongation of his long-legged steps that carried him to the door before it closed. He put one hand on it, stopping it about six inches from closing, and said, "Hey, Worthington. Seem a little out of sorts."

Warren didn't even look back. He just kept walking toward the shiny little Mercedes in the cul-de-sac, head slightly down, wings pulled up tight. "Why are you following me? Don't you have something to steal somewhere?"

Remy stepped out on to the front porch, looking upward at the bright sun. Warm sun. Felt nice—the air was cold but the sun was warm. Always liked this kind of weather—never felt like this in New Orleans. He gave no indication that he gave two shits if Worthington stopped to entertain him or kept going. But he said in his smoothest of voices, "Look now, we gon' be teammates—,"

"That accent really is ridiculous," Warren snapped, suddenly stopping in his tracks and turning around. "Could you lay off?"

Remy raised his eyebrows, but that was the only indication he gave of surprise. He'd seen Worthington's ineffectual sputtering when it had been announced that he'd be helping with the Transia effort, he knew how the man felt about him and that was precisely what was spurring on all this attention.

But he honestly hadn't expected the mild mannered cultured boy to get a little vindictive on him. Hadn't know he'd had it in him. Nevertheless, he continued as if Worthington hadn't spoken at all. "So I think we need to put all that behind us. You know it wasn't my fault when I broke into your house. Was under mind control. Anyhow, not my fault your security was so easy to get by—,"

"You just contradicted yourself, you know."

Remy felt his eyebrows climb a little higher. Now that had just sounded… spiteful. He looked at Worthington carefully, noted the tightness in the man's shoulders, the way his wings were drawn tight against him and his jaw was flexing.

Wasn't any way he was this aggravated with Remy. Not a chance.

Remy suddenly wondered what, exactly, he'd interrupted. And if his timing hadn't made him even more of an enemy than he'd already had in Warren K. Worthington III.

At this point, of course, he wasn't real sure he cared to have the man as a "friend" anyhow. But it bore thinking about, just the same.

Course, it could just be pure jealousy. So Remy pointed out, "I ain't thinkin' to move in on your _fille_." Since that was the point that had not been addressed as yet.

Worthington shook his head quickly, like he was trying to shake off some thought he didn't much like. "Well just keep it that way," he muttered. It wasn't quite half-hearted, but it wasn't half as vindictive as the last statement had been. "And keep the hell away from my things."

Remy put a hand to his chest, as if he'd been hurt by the statement. He wasn't, not one bit… but it sure did tell him a lot about the man. Not necessarily why he was really being such a bitch… but something about his character.

Worthington liked to lash out… but probably didn't do it very often. He wasn't real expert at it.

"Don't be like that, Wings, I'm tryin to make a nice brotherly gesture."

Suddenly, Warren took a few steps in his direction so they were at a decent distance from one another. Remy thought of it as "punching distance." If they wanted to, they could get into it right here and now. But angry days or not, Remy didn't think Worthington had the stones for that kind of action. Remy himself wasn't interested in it either… but he _was _interested in the man himself.

Not just because he was bored and wanted to aggravate the man who'd been a bastard to him since he'd gotten here, either. He was actually just curious, now.

"I don't know how you talked Xavier into letting you stay, Cajun, but I don't like it," Warren said plainly.

Remy raised his eyebrows again and smiled, pleasantly. Honesty. That, he could understand. "Got just as much right as you," he pointed out. Not because he thought it was true, but because he thought it was the wrong thing to say to Worthington.

He was right. "You do not," Warren insisted, narrowing his eyes. "You were one of the bad guys."

Remy put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pack of reds. He lifted one out, careful that it wasn't the lucky, and shrugged at Worthington. "So was Quickie and his sister. Seem to me this lot mighty concerned about them currently, non?"

"I don't like you," Warren pointed out.

Remy almost laughed. Partly from delight, but partly because Worthington was downright _bad_ at this. Remy was wondering, at this point, if the man had ever actually confronted anyone about anything before. The conviction was there in his voice, but… something about him was still a little too non-threatening.

Remy managed to keep a mostly straight face and pulled out his lighter, "Not sure I like you either, _mon ami_."

There were only two reasons to whip out the Cajun French on anyone (though both of them were part of the Show). For emphasis, be it sarcastic or real. Or for the Charm Factor.

In this case, it was definitely sarcasm.

"I'm not your _ami_," Warren groused, now decidedly more grouchy old man sounding than anything else. He turned toward his car again and Remy fell in beside him, lighting his cigarette.

"Just tryin to be brotherly and all. Nothing Remy can do if you don' want it." But he was almost certain now that the majority of Warren's problems at the moment wasn't him. Why else would he back down so fast, or sound like the aforementioned grouchy old man instead of the angry alpha male? It just made no sense, otherwise.

"Go butter up some other X-Man," Warren muttered, "I have other things on my mind."

His theory proven, Gambit simply stood on the pathway for a moment, watching Warren get into his car and pull away. He inhaled the deep rich smoke from his cigarette and considered his position carefully. Cyclops and Angel didn't seem too excited about him hanging around. Shadowcat and Wolverine (much to Gambit's surprise) had been downright supportive lately, though. Hm. He supposed he could've called the people who'd hate on him…

Couldn't help but wish he knew which side of the fence Rogue was on, though.

"So tell me, mate, are you or are you not trying to move in on his… what was that word you used?"

Gambit turned his head, blinking slightly. He'd been thinking and had let down his guard—hadn't even noticed Johnny coming up on him. A moment ago, he'd been thinking it might be nice to have the man's inane questions and company. Now… he wasn't so sure. Too much to think about.

"What?" was all he said.

"_Fille_!" Johnny announced, his Australian accent damaging the word in a distinct way.

Gambit dropped his cigarette on the path and stepped on it, then put his hands in his pockets and started back toward the house. "Johnny I think you need some more dem drugs. Or less."

"How does a Romantic Hero deal with a woman who's already taken?" Johnny was right beside him.

"What you talkin' bout! Swear to god, boy, you been touched…"

"… He's not wrong…"

Remy shot Pyro a sidelong glance to see who the hell he was talking to. Far as he could tell, they were the only two nearby.

House full of crazy people, and he was electing to stay. Had to wonder who was really the crazy one.

* * *

Kurt had always enjoyed the American expression, "The shit hit the fan." There was something comically graphic about it that worked pretty well to lighten up even the most serious of situations. Which was usually his goal. 

On the Shit Hit The Fan scale of 1-10, however, Kurt had to admit that this was a definite 11. And he suddenly understood very well why sometimes, that graphic illustration of a situation gone madly awry wasn't funny. Even toilet humor couldn't save it.

Also, he was in a foul mood because he was still covered in slime from waking up in Todd Tolansky's arms not so long ago. And he'd just teleported a bleeding and very seriously battered Avalanche back to the X-Jet, where there was absolutely no one to help him. He'd weighed his options and decided to come back and evacuate the others after the best attempt at bandaging he could make. Now that he was back, things really didn't look like they were in a much better spot than they had been when he'd pried Lance out of Freddy's arms about five minutes before.

The shit had long ago hit the fan and was now splattered pretty much everywhere.

At least Sam seemed to have found Wanda. Kurt spotted them off in a far corner, Sam prying Wanda off what looked like some kind of operating table. "I'm going to get Wanda out of here," he said into his communicator, keeping Cyclops in the loop like Ye Olde Fearless Leader so often reminded him. That duty done, he bamfed himself right next to Sam and leaned through the acrid smoke of reentry to get a closer look.

Wanda looked… well, alive. Really pale, a little scary… but alive.

Sam coughed once, but recovered from the smoke admirably. "She was strapped down here. I think she's drugged, and she ain't makin' much sense."

Kurt reached out and touched the metal collar around her neck, narrowing his eyes at it. "This is it. The thing Pietro said was controlling her powers."

It made him shudder just a little, thinking about it. Someone trapping him in a small room and not letting him use his powers… it would be like taking part of who he was away. Cyclops' voice rang through his communicator suddenly, jarring him out of his momentary day-nightmare. "Great, Nightcrawler. Once that's done get as many of us out of here as you can. We have what we came for, let's get out before it gets hotter."

Kurt looked up at Sam and nodded. Sam didn't hesitate. He handed Wanda over gently for evacuation. "I'll round up some of the others and we'll start clearing out."

"I'll take care of her," Kurt told him.

Sam nodded and smiled crookedly. Kurt couldn't help but notice that it looked just a little sad.

* * *

Finally, Pietro began to stir. 

Jean-Paul very nearly crossed himself out of some god-knew-how-old habit he'd thought he'd buried as a child. Christ, this boy was going to be the death of him.

"Uhn..," was the first sound Pietro made. He started to twitch and try to sit up almost immediately.

Jean-Paul knew better than to fight him. He took Pietro by the shoulders and helped him to sit up against the wall, behind the barrier he'd chosen for their safe spot. Jean-Paul had taken Pietro out of the lab the moment he'd fallen to Vertigo, beyond the pile of twisted metal that represented the former doors to the laboratory. They were currently crouched behind the rubble, well out of the way of what the hell ever was happening in there.

Jean-Paul had found it hard to care when Pietro was once again unconscious on the ground in front of him. It had been all he could do to keep from taking him back to the jet, in fact.

But he knew Pietro would never forgive him if he did. So he hadn't, in spite of every decent instinct he had telling him, _screaming at him_, to.

"Pietro, we have to get you out of here," he whispered roughly. His voice was catching. They'd been doing just fine arguing about whether or not he should be involved in this rescue on the way in—it had been halfhearted and more just so they could… say something. Without saying _it_.

But now, he was serious. He knew Pietro wouldn't agree… but Christ, he wanted him to. Wanted him to be _safe_, finally.

Pietro's dark blue eyes focused and he blinked two or three times, rapidly. "Where's Wanda?"

Jean-Paul tried not to sigh. He stood and moved to the edge of the debris pile, scanning the chaos in the room before him to try and find the answer to that all-important question. Scott was on one side of the room with Storm, facing off with Sinister. There was a massive hole in the floor next to said Bad Guy, and Kitty appeared to be nursing an injured arm not too far away. Magneto was at it again on the other side of the room, near the giant hole that obviously represented a metal wall he'd ripped out and thrown at his enemy at one point or another. Beyond that (past Blob, Rogue, Toad and sundry others who were avoiding shrapnel and trying to save their own skins), he caught sight of the girl in question.

Wanda was being handed from Sam to Kurt, her head drooping dangerously low.

"Over there, see her? Other side, with Sam and Kurt?" He pulled Pietro in front of him, supporting him more than was necessary. Even if Pietro was a little shaky, he could stand on his own.

Jean-Paul didn't much care.

"Take me there," Pietro rasped, eyes on his sister.

"Pietro—," Jean-Paul started, warningly.

"Please."

Jean-Paul stopped mid-sentence, all the air rushing out of his lungs painfully. Dear god, had he really just said that? Was the world truly coming to an end? God, it hurt…

"I can't…," Pietro continued, still watching Wanda. "I gotta know she's out of here or I can't go."

"Christ. You stubborn ass…," Jean-Paul attempted to bitch, but found that he had no heart for it. He slid his arm around Pietro's waist and made sure Pietro's arm was secured about his shoulders. Refusing to look Pietro in the eye all the while.

"I learned from the best."

Jean-Paul snorted. "Can't you help a little?" It came out broken and ridiculous instead of bratty.

"Fuck you," Pietro's laugh was dangerously near to hysteria. "It's been a long day."

"Hold on," was all he said. He sped himself up and dragged Pietro with him, knowing damn well he'd never be allowed to speak of this again. And honestly… he wasn't sure he wanted to. There was something fundamentally wrong about having to take Pietro Maximoff somewhere for him to get there fast. Just…

Wrong.

He came to rest directly in front of Kurt, holding Pietro up almost completely now. "Can you take them both?" he asked without prelude.

Kurt nodded and turned around. "Get on my back."

Pietro didn't even fight. He put his arms around Kurt's neck… and disappeared in a cloud of sulfuric smoke. There was a faint clatter, barely audible above the clank of random metal and energy blasts. Jean-Paul looked down and saw the metal collar Wanda had been wearing rolling round and round on the ground where Kurt had disappeared with the Maximoffs.

He'd 'ported her right out of it.

"We gotta get out of here," Sam started to say. He was cut short, however, by the ceiling and the floor both starting to come apart. Small bits of rock were falling from above, and the ground was becoming unstable. And this time, it wasn't Lance.

Jean-Paul looked around Sam to see that Sinister had started unleashing energy bolts on the shrapnel that was being hurtled ever faster and faster at his head. Despite the futility of the effort, the enraged Magneto didn't seem to have come up with any better ideas. Not quite the tactical evil genius Jean-Paul had expected…

Sinister, on the other hand, seemed to be toying with them. His power was obviously massive, and he was clearly not afraid of them at all. His energy beams, in fact, were bringing his own mountain down around him and he didn't appear concerned in the least.

"Look out!"

Jean-Paul whirled to see a huge chunk of mountain less than two feet over his own head. He sped himself up, knowing that he'd be goddamn lucky to escape…

But the owner of the warning voice, one Fred Dukes, was already on it. He was in place when he called out the warning and effortlessly grabbed the huge chunk of stone from midair, tossing it aside. "You guys gotta get out now," he informed them, most helpfully.

Jean-Paul would thank him later, he decided. The man had a point.

"Come on, yo," Toad waved from nearby. "I found a way that ain't collapsing yet."

Cannonball shot Jean-Paul a sideways glance, and they both nodded. They followed Toad out, Fred catching chunks of mountain as they ran.

* * *

Goddamn son-of-a-bitch bastard dickheads. 

Wolverine kicked the unconscious body that was Riptide out of his way as he made his way toward his goal. Storm was leaning over Kitty nearby—sure they were inside one of those pretty little weather vortexes, but that wasn't gonna make things any better when Sinister started firing those energy bolts again. Christ knew they'd taken Magda Lensherr out fast enough.

Woman _smelled _like crazy.

Anyhow, he was almost there, over to the corner where Scott had been getting ready to take a shot that might not even work for roughly ten minutes now. Boy needed to move his ass or they were all going to be eating through straws for the next twenty years, if Magneto had his way. There was only so much shrapnel a man could dodge.

Finally, after slicing up one last piece of … whatever the hell that had been he'd just shredded (metal, flat, in his way), Wolverine reached Scott. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder and said, "Time to take your shot one-eye—if it doesn't work you gotta blow us outta here."

"Magneto's in my shot. He's getting closer and closer and he has his wife in his arms."

"Then—,"

Logan never got to finish his sentence. One of Sinister's energy bolts knocked a chunk of medical equipment out of its planned orbit and sent it hurtling directly for Scott. Kid never had a chance before it knocked him right in the forehead, laying him out cold.

"Goddammit," Logan growled, crouching next to him. He tuned his senses to the flying metal in the air. Goddamn Magneto needed to wake up and remember Battle Tactics. A little something he used to have before he got all brain wiped.

If anything would've made Logan believe Magneto was a changed man, it was the way he was handling this shit right here. The Magneto he knew wouldn't have gotten all sappy and gone crazy throwing metal around. He would've killed that bastard Sinister by now.

"Ah got it," he looked up to see Rogue dodge what looked like a helmet with a lot of wires coming out of it and leap toward them, out of no where.

"Do what you gotta do," Logan agreed, standing up and moving toward Storm now. She had Kitty up and on her feet, but the girl was looking pretty pale. "Let's go, ladies. Get out now. Roof ain't gonna last much longer."

"Mr. Logan, Kurt took Lance back to the jet but I don't think there's anyone there to help him," Kitty pleaded, holding her elbow like that was where the major pain was.

Logan nodded. The half-pint had a point—Alvers hadn't looked too hot after Riptide had finished with him. Not that he was any medical wonder, but the kid needed someone there looking after him. Before he could answer there was a huge flash from behind him.

Rogue had unleashed Scott's power on Sinister. Felt like everyone in the room turned at the same time toward the center of it, right where Sinister was standing. There it was, just like a beacon, pure energy hurtling straight for the Man himself. If this didn't work, they were going to have to blast their way out of here… and that was looking a little worse than risky right about now.

But it did. Sinister took the impact like he'd been hit with a wrecking ball, folding in the middle and getting slammed backward into the wall. The roof gave out just over the spot where he hit and buried him in a hail of rocks and metal… and this time, he wasn't exploding out of it.

"Take them and go," Storm urged Kitty forward and said to him. "I want to get Magnus out."

There was no time to argue. His first priority was getting the kids out, and it looked like most of them were making it on their own. But Scott wasn't going anywhere.

"Can you phase us out, half-pint?" he stooped and lifted Scott over his shoulders, carrying him like a yoke.

She nodded determinedly. "Let's do it."

"Come on," Rogue waved from near the exit, "This ain't gonna hold up long!"

Logan shot Ororo one last look of warning and started out.

He didn't like this idea much. But it was balls to the wall. And it was time to go home.

* * *

Kitty stood on a small outcropping, closing her eyes as a small but frigid breed kicked up and lifted the stray hair off her face. Unconsciously, she held her elbow in the opposite hand. Sinister had given it a jar when he'd thrown her off and literally busted out of the floor she'd trapped him in. But it'd be fine. 

Lance might not be fine. They'd shooed her away from him in the Jet. They'd have to leave soon.

But Storm wasn't back. She was in there, trying to get Magneto out.

Kitty opened her eyes and looked out at the dusk. The top of the small submountain Sinister had made his laboratory was completely caved in, shattered and destroyed. The rest of Mt. Wundagore was silent. Like it was holding its breath.

She was holding hers.

She heard the sound of pacing nearby and knew it was Scott. He should be sitting down in the jet, but he wasn't, of course. Stupid Dumb Head Scott was up pacing around with a huge gash on his head. She looked over her shoulder at him and winced at his wound.

He'd said it looked a lot worse than it was. Kitty had thought that was a pretty retarded thing to say—if it was as bad as it looked, he'd be dead.

They needed to get Lance back to the Institute. Not to mention Wanda—god knew what kind of crap Sinister had pumped into her system to drug her up like that. And Pietro wasn't looking so hot either.

But they couldn't just leave Storm behind. She was in there. She had to be in there. She was just trying to help Magneto get out. That was all. It wasn't like she was… gone. Or anything.

"Logan," Scott said suddenly.

Kitty looked back at the crushed mountain, but it was going blurry all the sudden. This was the order. This was what she didn't want to hear.

"You take the jet back—I'll wait here for Storm and Magneto."

Kitty blinked away her tears and swallowed the massive lump in her throat, then looked back over her shoulder again. Wolverine stepped up to the edge of the outcropping next to her. He looked like he wanted to argue.

But he didn't. "I'll have Jean come with the chopper right now. She can be here in a few hours."

"Let's…"

Scott started to give the final order, but trailed off. His eyes seemed to find something interesting to focus on near the mountain.

Kitty followed his gaze. And yelped when she saw what had caught his attention.

Storm was rising up over the edge of the mountain, arms wide. Unharmed, as far as Kitty could tell, other than looking a little dirty. Hard to say, at this distance, but, "She's okay!"

Scott's comm buzzed to life. "I'm sorry about the radio silence," Came Ororo's voice, calm and collected as ever. "There was far too much interference from the electrical bursts in the collapsed lab… and other magnetic interference."

That was when a separate movement caught Kitty's eye. She looked down to the mountain and saw Magneto walking around the foot of it, coming directly toward them. Carrying his wife in his arms.

Her head was hanging lifelessly, her arms and legs swaying with his stride in some kind of sick puppetlike motion.

Kitty swallowed hard again.

"Magda Lensherr is dead," Storm's voice came over the radio again, before they could respond. "But as you can see, Magnus will be returning with us."

Kitty looked up at Logan and Scott and saw almost matching looks of… not exactly concern, but whatever the manly version of that was. Maybe it was thoughtfulness.

"I'll go tell them in the jet," she said quietly.

Neither of them answered, really.

* * *

AN: Longer wait than I expected on this one, due to the fact that my body seems to be falling apart. I've been sick, what can I say. I think I responded to everyone who left me a means to (a signed review or an email address where I could find you), but thanks to everyone who read that last one. I'm amazed and grateful that you're still around after two years of silence. If you didn't hear from me, shame on you for not leaving me some way to get in contact and thank you! And if I didn't get in contact with you despite the fact that you actually did leave me contact info... shame on me. Give me hell!

That said, one more chapter and we're done,I believe. You never thought you'd hear me say it!


	18. Air and Water

**Chapter 18: Air and Water (The End)**

"You don't think they'll take it badly?"

Charles looked up at his old friend… and smiled. "I think they'll learn to live with it. I've spoken to them already. They're satisfied that my assessment of your…"

Erik smiled back. A rare sight, one Charles had not seen since… well, since they were much younger, by comparison. It was genuine. It was exactly as he remembered, from those days long past. "Mental state," he finished, obligingly. "I understand. Apparently, my past actions warrant that and more. I can hardly protest."

Charles sipped at his cup of tea before nodding slowly. Carefully. He'd given the decision more thought than anyone could've imagined. But for so many reasons, it was the best of all available options. There was nothing that could return Erik Magnus Lensherr to his former state of, frankly, megalomania. Mastermind was dead, along with most of Essex's recruits, most likely.

And even if Mastermind hadn't been dead… Charles would certainly not have suggested such a thing to Erik. Sometimes ethics had to be elastic, for the good of mankind. Human and mutant alike.

He'd made so many decisions based on that theory… most of which had come out as expected. And some of which had not, and he'd regret them as long as he lived. But the good far outweighed the bad.

"We need your help," Charles said, frankly. "The mutant population grows exponentially—leadership and example should be united. We cannot fail."

Slowly, Erik shook his head. "No. We cannot."

He sounded far away. Charles was silent for a moment, out of respect. The garden could be seen from the window Erik was standing before. The garden where Magda's memorial would be held tomorrow. Charles remembered her, a stunning young girl who'd run off with Erik's heart. They'd been so young. Right and wrong had been so clear. Love had been a possibility.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. But it was decided.

In a way, Charles had won. But somehow, it didn't feel like the decisive victory he'd always imagined.

* * *

"We have no word about Pyro," Dr. McCoy continued, addressing the assembled staff of Xavier's as they neared the end of a long overdue recap meeting. "His leg is almost fully recovered, as you might've noted with him out and about of late, but he's not informed us of where he'll be after he's released completely from my care." 

_God, I hope it's not here._

Jean smiled and managed not to laugh, shooting Scott a look to match the mental waves of amusement she was sending his way. It made staff meetings so much more interesting, tapping into each other this way.

"As for Mr. Alvers, he's recovering nicely from his surgery, and I can release him tomorrow evening if all goes as expected. I don't suppose we might prevail upon him to stay in residence? Along with the rest of the Brotherhood."

A wave of mock-panic issued from Scott, and Jean had to bite her lip. Laughing about that with Magneto in the room was probably really damn inadvisable. Scott seemed to echo the sentiment… though he was still uncomfortable with the concept of the former supervillain staying at the Institute to teach the New Mutants.

Jean, for her part… thought it was wise. Magneto's conditioning would no more come undone than Wanda's. She'd been in both their minds and she'd seen a kind of stability that was only possible under completely man-made and reinforced circumstances. She could recognize the signs. Contrived stability, at least of this variety, was far more dependable than the average human mind could offer.

But she didn't expect Scott and the others to accept it so readily. And really… it was comforting, having them watching like hawks. Just in case.

Magneto looked up at the mention of the Brotherhood, but Charles shook his head. "Pietro and Wanda have both been approached on the subject, and flatly refused any invitation. The others will follow their lead."

Jean watched Erik carefully and saw him look down and away. Not in sadness… just preoccupation. He wanted them to stay. He wanted his family back.

_He should've thought of that before he used them up and threw them away._

Jean returned Scott's thought with a sort of grim agreement. While she was willing to give the man a chance… she actually respected the Maximoffs' refusal of him.

As much as she could ever respect Pietro Maximoff, anyhow.

"Well then," Hank continued, as if considering the matter closed but not entirely pleased with the results, "I can report that we have recovered one of the neck bands Essex used to inhibit the expression of mutant abilities—reverse engineering should be possible, but will prove laborious. I've enlisted Forge's help, and Angel is certain he can locate some helpful information in Worthington Industries' records."

"What about the serum they put in the darts?" Scott asked, chewing at the inside of his lip, mind whirring at a thousand mph—not uncommon when he was considering anything remotely tactical in nature.

"We have none," Hank admitted ruefully. "Though someone might've survived the destruction at the Wundagore laboratory… we cannot make predictions at this juncture. It may or may not resurface."

Scott made a low disapproving sound in his chest. _Great._

Jean could not have agreed more, and let him know with a wave of agreement mixed with some kind of comfort. As much as she could give, under the circumstances.

"Who could possibly have survived?" she asked. From what she'd heard, the destruction had been fairly complete. Storm and Magneto had been thought dead for a moment, even.

"Scalphunter is the only one any of us _saw_ die," Storm pointed out.

The witness to that event, Jean considered, was conspicuously absent. Logan had taken off on his bike almost the moment they'd returned from Transia. Typical. God forbid he should be around for the emotional fallout. It'd send his senses into hyperdrive… and possibly make him want to destroy things.

"We never did see Harpoon, but he was probably convalescing somewhere hidden away after how we messed him up," Scott pointed out. "Vertigo was there, but knocked out… Riptide just kind of… got left there. It's unlikely, but possible that one of them made it out."

"We gave Blockbuster to SHIELD," Jean continued for him.

"Sinister is our real concern," Magneto spoke up for the first time in the course of the entire meeting. "His powers are an unknown, and we know he is uncannily durable."

"But apparently my eye rockets do the trick, so he might not have made it out either," Scott said, consideringly. There was a touch of embarrassment… or perhaps just regret in there, mentally speaking. He'd been knocked out at the time, after all, and Rogue had been the one to take the shot.

Jean sent a sort of comfort through the link again. Scott acknowledged it absently, mind spinning too quickly to follow.

"We can do nothing but be vigilant," Xavier pointed out. "In the mean time, our ranks have grown," he looked to Erik with a smile.

Erik returned the expression, but somewhat distractedly. Understandably so, Jean thought. Scott reacted a little sharply to that, mentally. He felt that the man deserved next to no sympathy.

Jean only smiled. That was why they made a good team, in so many ways.

And a bad team in others. She shared that sentiment with Scott unthinkingly, and it calmed him. He even smiled, understanding.

"Gambit will stay, Colossus is on his way from Russia even now, and we have Wolfsbane and Jubilee back as of this evening," Xavier continued. "We are ready to start another year, in short."

Storm nodded solemnly. Scott followed her lead. Hank seemed to acquiesce silently, as did Erik.

Jean, for her part, was hopeful. Xavier… he'd made some bad choices, that much was evident now. He'd been wrong about Pietro, but was it so unthinkable? He'd been wrong about… a lot of things. But he knew he needed help… and he was enlisting it.

It was enough to make her hope, anyhow. Not that it had ever been difficult… but she'd been through what felt like a dark tunnel and now she was standing in the light at the other end. And Jean couldn't help but feel that the X-Men, and their leader, were in pretty much the exact same position.

* * *

They were laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Pietro didn't need to turn his head and actually look to see Jean-Paul next to him. It was the middle of the day, the day before his mother's funeral. The third day since they'd been back. The first day since Pietro and Wanda both had completely recovered. Now they were only waiting till Lance was released. To go home. 

It had been hell. Looking back, it seemed like a grey fog shrouded most of Pietro's memories. Since the nightmares, things were just… fuzzy. Strange and impossible and they had to be lies.

After what had happened to Wanda and Magento's brains… Jesus. How could any of them think what they knew was the truth?

And why the fuck was he the one stuck with the goddamn truth, anyhow? Why couldn't they have let _his _brain get wiped of his shitty childhood with his asshole father before they'd killed that Mastermind dick? Was that too much to ask, not to be the bearer of bad memories for the Maximoff-Lensherr clan?

Of course it fucking was. Because his life sucked.

Mostly. Then again… some things were okay. More okay now than… ever.

Some things.

" Have you spoken with Magneto?"

It was the first thing Jean-Paul had said since they'd hit the bed. It was almost eerie, just laying here. Pietro had the instinctive feeling he should be a little more… oh, say _active_ while he was here. But… then again… not so much. Not right now.

There was something weird and new going on here. Something like… connecting them. Some kind of fine thread. Pietro harbored some odd feeling in his stomach, unarticulated and raw, that if he made any stupid moves, it'd snap. And be gone forever.

And he didn't want it to be gone.

He took a deep breath and answered, with barely a beat missed. "Na. Don't wanna. He's staying here, you know. To teach."

Which was a fucking laugh and a half. Mr. I Hate The X-Men and Their Stupid Message was joining the ranks. Figured. Fucking Xavier had seen his opening to unite mutantkind under his lousy banner, and he'd jumped. Magneto was too mindfucked to figure it out… and it served him right.

"So I hear," Jean-Paul snorted, like he thought the whole thing was as ridiculous as Pietro did. "I'm surprised he doesn't want you to stay."

Pietro sighed. Storm had brought it up to him. That they should all stay.

Too fucking late, assholes. The Brotherhood of Mutants was well past the point of rescue. Better late than never, huh fuckers?

"Don't care if he does," he said, not really having the heart to spew all the vitriol in his brain at the moment. Part of that thread thing… it might snap the thread. And anyhow, it hadn't seemed worth it lately. He just didn't have the same kind of need to spew random bullshit this week. He was… tired. "To me, that's just one more reason to give this place some serious distance."

Jean-Paul turned his head to look at him. Pietro could see it out of the corner of his eye.

He'd kind of forgotten exactly what JP looked like while he was gone. He'd somehow become this almost faceless pretty thing. That made him ache.

He'd forgotten how bright those eyes were. It was almost creepy… but not. Did something to his insides anyhow… kinda like a creepy feeling, but a little lower in his belly.

"It might not be so bad if you stayed, Pietro. Xavier is an idiot, but at least he knows when he's fucked it."

Pietro snorted, still looking at the ceiling. He wanted to look back at Jean-Paul… but he couldn't yet. Felt funny. "I'd rather die a thousand deaths," he said, instead.

JP was quiet for a minute. Pietro's mind was racing, so he didn't mind so much. He was remembering being dragged out of a crevasse in Mount Wundagore, held up and petted and rescued. Felt like that memory should embarrass him.

It didn't.

Jean-Paul finally spoke, quietly. "Are you planning on giving this place more distance than usual, then?"

"No!" Pietro exclaimed, looking over at JP before he could stop himself. When he did, the shock of meeting Jean-Paul's eyes… this close up… it was a little like cold water being thrown all over him. They hadn't been this close since Transia. "I mean…," he fumbled after a minute, looking back up at the ceiling to avoid his friend's piercing stare. "Of course not. The old house is good enough for me."

Not that there was anything there. But… he didn't want to leave. Not now.

"Good," Jean-Paul said simply. "It doesn't work out well for me when you leave, apparently."

Pietro looked back over quickly, but now JP was staring at the ceiling. Had he just… like… _admitted _to that? His mouth worked, but nothing came out. Quite simply… he had no reply.

Well there was a first.

After what felt like forever, he managed, "Well, I know it almost killed me," and a slight snort of a laugh. Yeah… that could mean… anything. He wasn't saying anything stupid or weak… or admitting to anything. Not that there was anything to admit to but… ah fuck it.

"What about JM," Pietro decided to change the subject. "I haven't even seen her since we got back."

Jean-Paul was quiet again for a moment before saying, "…We're not really…"

Pietro sighed, suddenly feeling miles and miles more comfortable with the situation now that it wasn't focused on… that. "You're fighting _again_?" he shot JP an exasperated look. Jesus, those Beaubiers needed to pull their shit together. Look at him and Wanda! A model of the happy brother and sister.

Well… sort of. Still, compared to the Beaubiers…

"Not exactly," Jean-Paul was fiddling with the buttons on his own shirt now. Like he was uncomfortable. And he'd closed his eyes.

Why did Pietro suddenly have a bad feeling about this subject too?

"While you were gone, she had an accident. She and Jean were attacked, effectively, by a mob at NYS."

Pietro raised his eyebrows. There was only one thing to say to that. "… shit."

"You know better than anyone how she gets under pressure."

"Do I ever," he agreed readily. Memories of being locked in a cage with one certifiable nutbar called Jeanne-Marie Beaubier flooded back to him… and once more he wished for a mindwipe. Or maybe just some fucking bleach to pour in there.

"She wouldn't leave her room for days," JP continued with the story, eyes open but staring straight upward. "Finally she found out about some kind of gene therapy that would mask her X-Factor from scanning—"

Pietro sat up straight, "They have _scans_ for that now?" Jesus Christ! Fucking Nazis!

"Yes," came the sighing reply. Pietro didn't much care for what the topic was doing to Jean-Paul… who he had just now decided should be taking his clothes off instead of talking. Talking was too hard. Taking clothes off was easier. "Thanks to Sinister and Worthington Industries. I'd like to blame Wings for that, but even I can't fault him for what his parents have done."

" Jesus…," Pietro sighed, leaning back against the headboard. He was sure this would have some kind of fucked up far-reaching implications… but mostly, it just sucked. Not that he cared if everyone knew he was a mutant—they _should _know he was great. If they didn't, he'd tell them himself. Repeatedly, if needed.

But still… Nazis!

"Anyhow, the procedure…," Jean-Paul was still talking and it put Pietro back on the path their conversation had been going down. Jeanne-Marie, nucking futs, right. "It wasn't supposed to change her powers. But now when we touch…"

JP closed his eyes. His face was totally expressionless. He wasn't moving.

It freaked Pietro right out. "What, dude? Come on…"

"It just goes black," Jean-Paul said, quietly. "Everything goes black and… we were out for almost half an hour."

Pietro felt his eyebrows climbing dangerously high. Oh man… "So… you can't touch her at all?"

Jean-Paul took a deep breath, and covered it by sitting up straight and sprawling his legs out in front of him. He shook his head once he got mostly situated, "And she seems to have found some kind of permanent Aurora state to help her alleviate her guilt. So Xavier says. So she's… not exactly… my sister."

"Wow," was about all Pietro could manage. He wasn't usually one for sympathy or whatever… but goddamn. That hit a little too close to home. Not that he was like, thinking about it or anything. But man… he kinda knew the feeling. What with Wanda and the… yeah. Yeah, he knew.

And thank fuck he had her back.

But man... all he could really add to his assessment was, "That… blows."

Jean-Paul smiled. And it was pretty fucking unpleasant. Pietro looked him up and down. He'd lost weight, for one. He was normally nice and filled out, but his shoulders were looking bony and his cheekbones were even more obvious than before. And there were dark circles under those (incredible) eyes. Come to think of it… Jean-Paul looked kinda like shit. For Jean-Paul.

"That's one way to put it," was all he said. There was something extra bitter in the tone of his voice that felt a little like a smack in the face to Pietro. It made him sit up a little straighter, look at JP even closer…

What he saw was pretty fucking disturbing. Holy shit… first he'd gone and run off to Transia and left JP as the bearer of his news to the world… then JM had pulled this stupid ass genetic stunt…

Pietro swallowed hard, wondering what the fuck this uncomfortable feeling in his throat was. "… Bad couple of weeks, huh?" he managed. But it sounded choked and funny even in his own ears. His face was kinda hot… he didn't like this feeling.

"It's over now."

Jean-Paul wasn't looking at him. Pietro was kind of glad. He wasn't sure he'd be able to think straight otherwise.

He owed this guy his life. Pietro wasn't much for gratitude or anything… but some serious shit had just gone down. And he never would've managed without… well…

Goddammit.

"Look…" he said, suddenly. Well, more like croaked around the lump in his throat. "Thanks for not saying anything before you did. I meant to tell you that before, I just never got the chance, I guess. And thanks for coming for us. I'd… well I'd be dead if you hadn't."

Jean-Paul turned his head and met Pietro's eyes.

Pietro swallowed hard again, caught. He couldn't look away and it was making him feel panicky. Vibratey. God… Jean-Paul… looked so sad… and it was… it kinda hurt his throat… man his stomach didn't feel so good…

"Shut the fuck up, Pietro."

Suddenly, they both smiled.

Pietro shrugged, trying to breathe normally. Finding it less difficult than he had only a split second before. Mostly because Jean-Paul looked away from him… let him go. "Just sayin'—"

"If you want something to do with your mouth," JP raised an eyebrow at him, "I have a few far more productive suggestions."

And that was the other shoe. Pietro grinned… and attacked.

Talking was for losers and jerks.

* * *

Alex kicked his feet a little, wiggled his toes in the breeze. He was hanging out on the balcony, watching the sun going down. And thinking. Alone. 

This was some heavy shit. Some seriously effing heavy shit. That was pretty much all he'd come up with in the last half hour sitting here… but he'd made some decisions too. Decisions that like… needed to be made. And he felt pretty good about the whole thing now. Sorta.

Other than not being too comfortable with the idea of Magneto as his new teacher. But hey, bygones and stuff, right? That whole Asteroid M Thing… yeah. Sure. He could get over that. No worries.

"Hey bro."

Alex jumped a little and looked up, even though he recognized the voice instantly. He smiled up at Scott through his bangs once he'd recovered from the surprise of finding someone out here with him. "Hey man. How you feeling after all that?"

"Okay," Scott planted himself next to Alex and stuck his own legs through the openings between the railing and over the edge. "We won."

Thank fuck, Alex thought to himself. Man… he'd never been so worried. And he'd never wanted to be an X-Man so badly before. Just so he could… be there. "And Magneto, man," he decided to bring it up, since it was eating at his brain anyhow. He just kinda needed to hear Scott say it was cool. If he heard that… it'd be cool.

"Yeah, crazy…," Scott gave a little laugh. Not real genuine, but it was a start. "I mean, just thinking about that whole Asteroid M thing…"

Alex winced. "Not even the same guy, huh?"

Scott shook his head, "I could hardly believe it myself, man. But… not even close

Alex nodded. That was all he needed to hear. They were quiet for just a minute—Alex just kinda concentrated on looking at the sun going down over the tops of the trees and the sounds of nearby voices. Some of the others were hanging out in the yard below. It was hella quiet lately, since everyone had come back. Lots of wounded… and then there was the funeral tomorrow. No one really felt much like having a party or anything.

But it kinda suited Alex. Being all… pensive and stuff. And really… hell, he kinda wanted to talk to Scott about that anyhow." So, I've been thinking a lot," he said finally, "And I think it's really lucky I came here."

"Well I agree," Scott said, looking out toward the sunset. "But why do you say that now?"

"This powers stuff…," Alex kicked his legs a little, wiggling his toes some more. It was pretty damn cold, but he still didn't feel like wearing shoes outside. Seemed stupid, somehow. "I mean the thing about Sinister actually being after me. It totally woke me up, you know? What if I were still chillin' on the beach at Diamond Head, eating a plate lunch or something? It'd be so easy for me to get caught and… like… used."

… Like he had been by Magneto. But if people knew he was like… that powerful. Man. It could've been even worse.

Heavy shit man. Heavy.

"Alex, that's exactly why I was so freaked out," Scott was looking at him, all serious behind those red shades. "Because even here it could happen. I'm not trying to scare you, I just… I just want you to be aware how much you'd be worth to these people."

And Alex felt just as serious as Scott looked. For once. "Well I'm aware now, man. Too fucking aware. And… I mean…." He looked down at the far off ground now, past his bare feet. "X said I really am that powerful. He didn't tell me before cause he thought it'd freak me out I guess."

He caught Scott's grimace out of the corner of his eye. "He's good at withholding info sometimes."

Alex shook his head, "He meant well, dude, I know that," then he sighed. "I wish I didn't know now, cause it's like this weight on my shoulders, you know? Like all this destructiveness inside me, and if I don't use it right…" he trailed off and shook his head some more. There was like… nothing to say to that. It was just way too much for him. He was just some kid who missed the surf… not human WMD.

Only… he was.

"Alex… I know exactly how you feel."

Alex turned to look at his brother. And smiled. "Heh. I guess you do. Like no one else ever will."

"At least we're not alone, huh?"

His smile grew bigger. "No one wants that, man. No one."

Scott reached out and gave his shoulder a manly kind of squeeze. Alex leaned his head on the railings, looking through it at the kids he could see below. Kinda further off, but still recognizable. Kitty and Kurt and Rogue, just hanging out on one of the benches.

Which reminded him. "So what about Rogue? Any news there?"

Scott sighed and echoed his position, kinda like he didn't even realize he was doing it. "I don't know, Alex. I don't know what's going on with anything right now. I kinda feel like… like I don't have control of things anymore. I'm a little… lost."

Alex gave a low whistle. Those were totally words he did not expect to hear from his big bro. Dude _always _had answers. "Dude…," he said, "that's heavy."

Scott sighed. "Yeah. I…"

Alex held up one hand, leaning away from the railing now. "I know, dude. It's cool." He didn't need an explanation. Scott didn't have to be perfect… well, he was perfect. But he didn't need to be someone else's idea of perfect. Not around him, man. Not with his bro.

" What about Ray?" It was Scott's turn to change the subject now. "He still being weird?"

Alex shook his head, leaning back on his hands. The stone was cold under his palms.

He didn't mind the cold. It was … kinda nice. Different. "Eh, things have been so wacky lately, bro. But now that things are chill again, I dunno… I feel a lot braver these days."

Not that he would be telling dude that he wanted on him any time soon. Just that… well the funkiness of Ray hadn't quite disappeared, even with all these issues lately. He totally needed to investigate.

"Deciding to take charge will do that to you."

Alex laughed. "I guess so man."

And … that's totally what he'd done. All this power… it meant he had some work to do. That was his like… duty. To the world.

Heavy… but not uncool. Not really.

* * *

Scott padded down the hallway, holding back a sigh. Alex seemed okay… really okay. Which was good… even if everything else still seemed up in the air. 

Scott didn't like up in the air. He didn't like uncertainty and he didn't like having to wait to see where the other shoe would drop. He liked facts, statistics and reality. Not emotion, confusion and possibility. He wanted…

He wanted things to be the way they were.

Realizing where he was in the house, he stopped. The girl's hall was right there, which mean Jean and JM's room was right there.

Maybe that would help. On impulse, he changed course and stood in front of her door. It was open, but he knocked anyhow, catching a glimpse of her at her computer. The blue glow of it reflected onto her face, making her look almost supernatural. Beautiful and pale.

He smiled.

She turned her head to him and reached out to flick on a nearby lamp as she did so.

"Hey Jeannie," he said, quietly.

"Hey you," she gestured for him to come in, crooking a finger at him then patting her bed, which was only a foot from her chair or so. "What's up?"

Scott did as he was told and strolled into the room, hands stuffed into the pockets of his khakis. He sat himself on the bed and extracting his hands, leaned back on them. "Just talking to the kid brother," he said, this time letting out a little sigh. "He's really taking this whole thing with his powers pretty seriously. I'm kinda surprised… but I shouldn't be. He's a smart kid, no matter what kind of slang he talks."

At that he gave a little smile, and looked up to catch Jean's eyes. She was smiling back at him.

"He is," she agreed, tucking a lock of shining red hair behind her ear. "And I think if I could pick one person to trust with that kind of power… it'd be Alex."

Scott had to admit, that was valid. "Good point," he agreed. "Just…" Just that it didn't make it okay. It didn't make him any less afraid that he'd lose his kid brother again. Lose him to his power, or to crazy people who wanted to use it… or to… anything.

God, he hated possibilities.

"I know," Jean reached out and squeezed his knee gently, then sat back in her chair again, swiveling it around to face him properly. "He's your kid brother. I'd feel the same. How about you?"

Scott shrugged, "Okay. I just…" He just didn't feel like anything was right. And it wasn't _just _Alex, even if that was always first. It was also pretty much all his friends. Thank god Jean had come around before now… he realized with a little bit of surprise that he really needed her right then. And if she'd still been… well, whatever the hell she'd been acting like a week ago… damn. "I'm still a little worried about Jean-Paul too," was all he was willing to admit to. And really, it was the biggest one, after Alex.

The guy was not okay. He was acting like it, but Scott knew better by this time. And it was pretty freaking hard to forget Jean-Paul Beaubier crying into his shoulder and holding on to him like a life preserver only a few days ago, honestly. That kind of breakdown…

Yeah. The guy was _so _not okay.

Jean was quiet for a moment, biting at her lip. Scott knew it was hard for her too—even if she didn't like JP, JM was her friend. And though he was pretty sure she was over her feelings of personal responsibility for JM's latest breakdown… this was Jean. She was too thoughtful to forget. "I don't blame you," she said after a moment. "Jeanne-Marie is…"

"Not Jeanne-Marie," he finished for her, nodding slightly. That was about all there was to it. Aurora was here to stay, apparently.

Jean echoed his thought, as she so often did even when they didn't link up. She was freaky like that. "I don't think she's going back any time soon. I know the Professor said it too, but I've felt her mind since she made the switch, Scott. And she did it right there in a session with Xavier…"

He nodded once more, this time more slowly. He'd heard as much—and if she actually had a major change while sitting there with the Professor… well there wasn't much anyone could do to refute his account of the subject. He'd been there, he'd seen it, he'd felt it. JM was gone.

But it wasn't even that that worried Scott. It was more the attitude it seemed to create in her. "She won't even consider trying to change it back. He feels betrayed, but he won't come out and say it."

Of course, JP wouldn't say that. But come on.

Jean bit at her lip again. Scott noticed how pretty it made her look… but it was different now. That thought, that she was so very, very pretty, drove it home.

Jean was his best friend. He'd always love her.

But they'd mistaken it for something it wasn't, and it could've cost them this.

"Scott…," she started off slowly, oblivious to his internal ramblings (as much as a telepath could be, he figured.) "I know he's your friend. But he's a big boy."

This time, it was a big old sigh that slipped out of him. He leaned back further, shoulders slouching, head hanging just a little. And he said what he'd been thinking for about two weeks now. "Everything is out of my hands these days."

" Hey," Jean stood up and relocated herself to the bed, right beside him. "That's not true."

She leaned close and squeezed his leg again, then put her head against his, giving it a little knock.

He could smell her hair. Sweet and familiar, like white flowers.

It made him give up. "Ah, the hell with it," he sighed, sitting up a little straighter. She did the same and scooted away, tucking her legs up underneath her in lotus position "Let's talk about something else, huh?" he suggested. He was tired of being a whiney bitch. What could he say. "You heading back to school?" he asked, looking around and noticing that her gigantic "purse" (it was a messenger bag, but she called it a purse) was all packed up and laying by the door.

Jean nodded, "Just for tonight, I'll be back for the funeral. I have some things to take care of there."

Scott noticed the look in her eye—the one that said she was up to something. "Getting involved?" he guessed.

Jean smiled, refocusing on him. "You could say that. A friend of mine asked me to help with a club he started. A mutant-human cooperation organization. I think it's a great opportunity for us to speak out but not separate ourselves."

Scott just kept smiling back at her. Man… if there was somewhere Jean belonged, it was doing that. And as far as he was concerned, there wasn't more important work in the entire world. He did what he could—he couldn't do that kind of PR stuff. But Jean… she had the face _and _the brain for it. "You were made for that kind of thing, Jeannie."

She practically beamed. "I hope so. Think you'd be interested in helping us out sometime? We want to plan some events soon, to get the ball rolling."

Momentarily, he froze. But he shook it off and said, "Er, yeah, okay. If you think I could be useful…"

"Well if you don't want to…" Jean arched an eyebrow at him, smirking. She knew exactly what his problem was. He could just feel it—she knew damn well that the idea of PR of any kind made him nervous and… well, frankly, sweaty.

"Hey, I said yeah!" he laughed, nervousness deflated. "Of course I will, Jean, you know that. This is your thing, I'm behind it one-hundred percent."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek quickly, "I know you are. Thanks Scott."

He smiled as she stood up to go, and took her hand to keep her from getting away. Seized by yet another stupid impulse. "Hey. I love you, okay?" He told her, looking up into her eyes pointedly. "Don't forget it."

Her smile went soft, and her voice lowered as she said, "I know. I love you too."

He stood up and started for the door. Feeling… well, a little better. "See you tomorrow night."

"See you."

* * *

Wanda stood silently as Xavier talked. Standing in the rose garden, appropriately barren, her brother beside her. 

Her father behind her.

The whole ceremony struck her as vaguely disturbing. People talking about Magda like she wasn't some kind of batshit harpy. A harpy who'd sold out her own kids for some dream she gave up the day she'd dumped them on their _real _parents.

Nothing about this was for Magda, though. Magda Lensherr was dead and gone, and she didn't give a fuck if they cried or laughed. This ceremony was for them. Why they cared, anyone but Magneto and apparently Xavier, Wanda couldn't really understand. Other than maybe fear. Fear that they'd die too some day. That one day it wouldn't matter what anyone said about them because they'd be dead and gone and out like a light.

But Wanda wasn't afraid. In fact, she couldn't remember ever being afraid before Wundagore. Not once in her life.

Apparently, she couldn't remember anything. And apparently, at least according to Pietro, that made her lucky.

Yeah. How would he fucking like it?

So she stood there, frozen, numb. Not on the outside—it wasn't so bad an evening. But on the inside. Like she was watching people behind a glass wall, watching feeding time at the zoo. Or maybe she was the one in the zoo.

It didn't much matter.

There was Roberto with his arm around Amara. She was crying into his shoulder, as if she had some fucking personal stake in the matter. Maybe she was one of the scared ones. Maybe funerals reminded her of someone she loved who was dead. Roberto didn't even seem to notice her, even though he was patting her absently on the shoulder.

He was watching JM, who was standing in front of Warren. Who was eyeing Remy sideways in between glancing down at his batshit girlfriend like a goddamn big-winged mother hen.

And Remy looked like he was trying to forget where he was. Edging further and further away from Pyro. Who'd stopped flicking his lighter finally, since Scott had shot him a dirty look near the beginning of the service.

Little blonde Summers looked ready to cry too, standing there beside his stupid-haired roommate.

And Wanda… didn't get any of it. Not even the smallest part of it. Not the sympathetic and frankly fucking irritating look on Jean's face. Not the way Kurt was glancing around nervously, his tail lashing like he was waiting to bolt. Not Kitty's closed eyes and the way she was hugging herself.

The closest she could come was the way Rogue was standing next to Jean-Paul, with her back almost turned to the entire thing. But even that seemed to be a way of hiding from something.

Wanda didn't want to hide. She just… didn't get it.

At least it made sense now. The way she never felt like she belonged, the way she felt cut off and didn't know if it was normal or not. The way things were so foreign. Everything she'd learned in Transia added up to one big fat explanation of why she was an emotional freak.

She didn't want to be. But she didn't think it could be helped.

Sam helped. He'd been giving her some space since she'd woken up… but the minute she'd kissed him for the first time, when she was saying thank you, she'd felt like he was helping. Somehow. He was nearby now, but not too close. Just like he had been the whole time.

He didn't help enough though. Neither did Pietro. And she wasn't sure anyone could. But she didn't want to be like this.

She didn't want to end up like her crazy fucking mother.

Maybe she'd write Marya a letter. Maybe that would help.

The memorial ended uneventfully and the crowd broke up. Everyone had been there. Even Lance, who was the only one sitting. But he'd come, just the same. When it was over, Kitty helped him stand up. And Wanda started to walk away. Sam was beside her, quiet.

She was glad.

"I'll call, JP," Pietro said somewhere behind her.

"All right," Jean-Paul answered him, sounding quiet. Pensive. Out of character. "I'll be around."

Sam stopped, took her hand. He just looked at her.

She leaned in and kissed him. His lips were cold, but still soft. She loved his lips.

It was a quick one. They pulled back, and Sam nodded, wordlessly, then turned to walk away.

Wanda watched him go silently. Jean-Paul and Pietro were murmuring something nearby, but she didn't pay enough attention to hear what it was.

"Is that your boyfriend?"

She looked up sharply… and saw Magneto standing over her. "What's it to you?" she barked at him.

He almost smiled at her. Almost. "I was only asking, Wanda. I wish you'd stay."

He hadn't brought it up with either of them, that she knew of, before. Storm had, but not him. Not that it changed anything. She'd rather die. Or better yet, she'd rather he did.

Before she could answer him, however, Pietro was at her side, Jean-Paul mysteriously gone. "Wish your heart out," he snapped, taking her hand protectively. It made her smile. "It won't do you any good."

"Thanks but no thanks," she added. She started to pull her brother toward the Jeep, where Kitty was helping Lance get into the driver's side, Freddy assisting.

To her surprise, Magneto made pace with them, still at her side. "Charles told me what happened after Apocalypse. And before. I have trouble believing—"

Pietro stopped, jerking her to a stop as he did so. "Look," he cut their father off, face screwing up into that indignant angry expression that was oh-so-common on his features. "We get that you loved our mother or whatever. You didn't seem to give a fuck till this week, but hey, great. In our minds, she died when we were little kids, and our parents are two gypsies in east buttfuck, Transia. We don't need you."

Wanda shot her brother an impressed look and squeezed his hand. If he was going to grow a pair, he couldn't have picked a better time. Then again, he'd done pretty damn well on his own back in that lab in Transia too… In fact, it was pretty goddamn obvious that something inside her brother had changed since their whole ordeal. He'd been… well moody. Which was normal, but more… almost reserved. Freakishly thoughtful, for Pietro. For any normal human being she figured it'd be average. But in self-centered Pietro (which he still was, no fucking doubt about it), it was pretty remarkable.

"All I'm asking for is a chance," Magneto replied with maddening calm. "We should be together."

"We are," Wanda said simply.

_We_ was her and Pietro. He was not part of their _we._ And from what she understood, he was the reason they'd lost that for so long… even if she didn't remember.

"I see," he said quietly, after a moment of silence. They were very near the Jeep now. Wanda had to force herself not to hex him away so they could just get the fuck out of here and go home. Finally. "I'll be here if you need me," he continued.

"We won't," Pietro snapped again, without even looking at their father. "And you can keep your money too."

"I will not shirk my responsibilities—,"

"We'll manage," Wanda cut him off.

"We always do," came Lance's sullen reply from the Jeep. "You guys ready or what?"

Todd hopped up into the back of the Jeep just before Wanda.

Pietro swung into the front seat, slammed his door, and said, "Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

Aurora followed her brother once he left Pietro's side. The rest of the students and staff were heading directly for the school, but Jean-Paul veered away from them all. She caught the glance Scott shot her as he watched Jean-Paul steal away, but she shook her head. 

She wanted to talk to him. It was not Scott's place.

She reached him just as he was nearing the edge of the woods. She pulled up the hem of her black peasant skirt and sped up to catch him—luckily he was not moving too quickly. She wouldn't have been able to catch him, if so. Not anymore.

Which was no matter. If only _he _could be sensible enough to see that.

"Brother," she began, in English.

Jean-Paul neither looked at her nor responded, his pale face as cold as the air around them.

She furrowed her brow, irritated. He hadn't spoken to her in days, not even to ask if she was doing all right. She was not pleased. She switched to Joual, _"Brother, please…"_

This time, he glanced over at her. His eyes were hard and colder still. But he said nothing.

She grimaced and switched back to English. She was not certain why she'd spoken French so much before—it was so silly when her English was perfectly serviceable and she was living in America now. Really. "Why will you not speak to me?"

Jean-Paul stopped walking and that cold hard expression morphed into something hot. He looked, frankly, appalled. His lips twisted up in something like a sneer, and he asked, "How can you even ask me that with a straight face, Jeanne-Marie?"

Aurora cringed inside. Possibly outside—she didn't know or care. That name… that horrible horrible mousy little bitch…

Jean-Paul's sneer did not lessen as he croaked, "Fine, Aurora, if it makes you feel better." His voice sounded tight and forced. But there was no sign of fear or pain in his eyes. Just anger. "The question remains."

She considered, discomfort washed away in an instant, though she was somewhat irritated still. She didn't expect him to be happy. But she didn't expect him to be a drama queen, either. Wasn't that Pietro's job? "Jean-Paul," she began, clearly and rationally, "we don't need to be enemies. I love you—"

He began walking again and growled (yes, growled) at her, "You love yourself."

She gasped as if he'd smacked her. She felt as if he had. "How can you—?"

He cut her off before she got any further, now sounding outright angry, gravelly voice and all. "How can _you_? Do you even _want _to find a cure for this condition—?"

She sniffed, stepping carefully over a felled treebranch in their path. "My _condition_ is healed, brother. This is a side effect."

He was silent, shaking his head for a moment. It displaced his bangs and they fell into his eyes.

She was compelled to move them… and realized that if she did, they'd black out. It hurt for a moment. But she knew it was for the best. If only he could look past his own needs and see… see how badly she needed this.

"This is precisely what I speak of," he finally growled (again.) "You don't care a thing for what you've done to… the people around you."

She pursed her lips at him, slipping her hands into the pockets of her winter coat. Lest she try to choke him with them and knock them both out. "Warren isn't angry with me," she protested. "He says he's not been affected—"

Again, Jean-Paul stopped walking. He turned to face her, cheeks turning just slightly pink. "_Warren can still touch you."_

Aurora paused again, completely shocked at the emphatic nature of this declaration. So… Jean-Paul had not been concerned with "the people around her." But with _himself_.

And for that moment, Aurora had absolutely no reply.

Jean-Paul shook his head, as if angry with himself, now. "And Warren is not your blood," he continued, catching her eyes again. "Warren was not… so close to you. And no one ever will be again. You know it as well as I know it."

She bit at her lip. He was right, but she still didn't like what he had to say.. And he was blind, anyhow. He was being foolish about this because of all he'd been through with Pietro, and that was that. Yes, she'd tell him so, in fact. "You're upset because of—"

Jean-Paul cut her off immediately, his words dripping in bitterness. "If you _even _drag Pietro into this, I will leave right now. God help me, Aurora, I will walk away from you and I will not look back."

She stopped. She believed him… and he was starting to scare her just a little. It made her stand up straighter, as if she were ready for a fight… but the root of it was fear. His eyes were wild now, blue and raging bright. His cheeks were flushed and his hair had gone all wrong. He looked… slightly insane, really.

She said nothing, but let him continue.

"If you want to argue about this, fine. _I _want to argue about it, god knows. I want to do _something _about it, and this is all I _can _do. But this is about you and me. Not Pietro, not Warren, not Xavier or Jean or Scott or anyone else in the world."

After another moment of silence where she cast around hopelessly for a defense—too flustered by his approach to even think properly, she finally said "… But you must admit, it upset you." Meaning Pietro, of course.

He shook his head, all the anger suddenly gone out of him, and spoke quietly. "Not so much as you, my love."

She took a step closer. But knew she couldn't touch him. It was for the best. "You will see reason in time," she promised.

He shook his head and took a step backward. Which hurt more than anything he could've said. "No," he replied, "your vision is skewed and you know it. I want to help you, I promised I would. But your mind is fractured and you know there's no way out for you right now. I accept that, and I love you for it, it's who you are. But _you _are the one who does not see clearly."

Now she was indignant. "My mind is perfectly stable right now! Jean and Xavier both agreed—I'm further from danger than I have been since I arrived here!" And it was _true_. She was better. She was happier.

"Because _this_ you is the you that _won_," he insisted, shaking his head once more. "It doesn't mean the fracture isn't there, Jeanne-Marie."

She slapped her hands over her ears at the sound of that name, losing her calm to him. Losing her reason. "Stop calling me that!"

Jean-Paul only looked at her for a moment. Then sighed. His shoulders slumped even more, and he said, "Forget it," as she took her hands from her ears.

He started walking again and she hopped to follow quickly. "You cannot blame this on the fact that I'm…," she looked around for an appropriate word, but could find none. She was desperate, feeling him slip away. So she said, "crazy."

"I don't," he didn't even look at her as he responded. Just kept walking. "I blame your lack of reason on that. I blame the situation itself on the fact that you simply do not care."

Aurora sniffed, trying to regain the calm she'd initially had. But she was shaken, and she knew it. And she was scared. Which made her want to hurt something. "Then you don't know me."

"I did once. And that was my opinion back then, as well."

She shot him a glare, "Jean-Paul…," but she trailed off. He didn't look back at her. He didn't stop walking. He didn't look like he felt… anything. From zero to one hundred and back again just like that. Had she truly lost all power over her brother because she wanted to be happy? "Let's not be enemies," she tried, finally.

" I'll do whatever you want, sister," he said quietly, surprisingly docile. "But don't expect me to be happy about this."

She shook her head, "Do you think it makes me happy?"

It did not, not to be able to touch him. But her sanity… being rid of that insane little bitch was worth it. It had to be worth it. It was the only way.

"I think you only care when it's convenient."

She stopped walking, feeling sick to her stomach suddenly. "You hurt me."

He kept walking. "We're not even close to even."

And he didn't stop as she stood there, watching his back become smaller and smaller till it disappeared into the trees.

* * *

Jean-Paul leaned out over the balcony, enjoying the cold rush of air through his lungs. He'd been walking for hours now, through the woods as usual. And it hadn't fixed him. 

Things could've been worse, but he didn't really give a fuck. Jeanne-Marie was gone, and he'd have to accept it. But damned if he wasn't going to have a good sulk over it before he did his getting over. He fucking deserved it, and that was all there was to it.

The problem was his memory. He couldn't stop thinking about her, about everything. About smoking with her on the front porch after clubbing, after everyone else had gone to bed and it was just the two of them. How beautiful she'd been to him that night, and every night before and after—human starlight. How she had contrived, despite her dislike of Pietro, to reconcile the two of them on their birthday this summer. How she'd enlisted Wanda and the two of them had ganged up on their brothers, in true sisterly fashion, for the good of all.

About seeing her for the first time, hugging her in Xavier's office. That blinding flash of light that had told him he was complete—after years of wandering he was whole at last.

Of course… he was lucky to have her at all. Lucky she was alive, after what Sinister had done to her and Pietro, after that mob had attacked at NYS.

Somehow though, he didn't feel lucky. He just felt lost.

"Hey Speedy."

Jean-Paul looked up quickly, shocked at the presence of another human being. He should've known from the gruff voice that it was Mr. Logan—but he'd thought the man had disappeared into the mist (as he was wont to do) once they'd returned from Transia.

"Look like you could use a beer," Logan continued, approaching and planting himself next to Jean-Paul, leaning on the banister."

Jean-Paul watched with vague interest as Logan bent, opened the cooler, and pulled out two Labatt Blues. He handed one to Jean-Paul, who accepted silently at first, then pulled off the cap on his own.

Jean-Paul followed suit, and noted his own lack of irritation. Had it been anyone else, in any other fashion, he would have told them to fuck off. But for some reason… Logan was not so offensive. Which were words he never thought he'd string together in a coherent sentence…

But the man had a regard for privacy… and good sense. Those were two qualities Jean-Paul could appreciate at the moment. That, and beer.

And Logan's apparent disregard for certain American laws requiring that one be twenty-one to legally consume it.

"Thanks," Jean-Paul finally said after his first drink. The stuff was good—crisp like a decent Canadian beer should be. Not this American swill. After another moment and a few more silent drinks from both of them, he asked, "Where did you disappear to?"

Not that he felt the need to make conversation. But he was tired of his own thoughts. They only went in circles anyhow, and none of them were pleasant.

Mr. Logan grunted. "I don't like funerals."

Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows, looking out over the tops of the trees at the darkening night sky. "Is there someone who does?"

After another swallow, Logan replied, "Dunno, Stripes is pretty goth. Ain't you and her close?"

Jean-Paul took another drink as well, already over halfway through his bottle. Really, why hadn't he thought of this before? A drink might've made him feel better ages ago. "Rogue has never mentioned a love for funerals. At least not to me."

"Learn somethin' every day," Logan grunted.

There was a long, startlingly comfortable silence. In fact, it was the most comfortable Jean-Paul had been, he realized, in roughly a week. Though there had been those few blessed moments with Pietro (once he'd finally managed to shut the motormouth up), they had not lasted long enough for him. And he'd been a little too preoccupied to enjoy them properly, truth be told.

He was stirred from his thoughts my Logan moving again. The man had left his empty bottle on the railing and ducked down to dig through his cooler. He reappeared upright with two more in hand. "Need another?"

Jean-Paul accepted. _"Merci."_

Just as they were removing their caps, another voice cut through the silence. "Hey guys, can I interrupt?"

Jean-Paul looked over his shoulder… and once again, was not upset to see the new visitor.

Scott. He started coming toward them when Jean-Paul nodded at him.

Logan simply held out the beer he'd just opened and said, "Only if yer drinkin'."

Scott appeared on the other side of Jean-Paul, looking slightly confused and only mostly scared. He stared at the beer bottle as if it were some sort of alien artifact that might turn him into a frog if he touched it. "I… uh…"

Jean-Paul took the bottle and shoved it in front of Scott's face as Logan dove for another in his cooler. "Just do what you're told for once, Summers."

Oh, the irony.

Face full of stoic boy scout like trepidation, Scott accepted the bottle. Still staring at it as if he were afraid of this mystical creation and it's strange powers. "… sure. Okay, I guess. I uh… never had one of these before."

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes.

Logan got the cap off his new bottle and gave a short bark of a laugh, "Sometimes, Shades, I really think you should've gone off to college with Jeannie. Just so you could get drunk and get laid."

Jean-Paul shook his head, "Nonsense. We can arrange all that right here."

Scott made a face, "Don't do me any favors, guys." He took a tenuous sip, then pronounced, "This… isn't bad."

"That's the spirit," Logan informed him.

They lapsed into silence, sipping at their beers. Or chugging, in Logan's case. And Jean-Paul found that he… felt a little better. Remarkable and unexpected, but perhaps a little company was just the thing… in very limited cases. And providing that the company was carefully selected. He thought he'd heard Bobby's voice echoing through the corridor behind him less than an hour ago, and it had almost sent him into a blind panic. Drake on an empty (and surly) stomach was hardly a good idea.

He stood watching night grow, between Logan and Scott, and trying not to think. The third beer helped. It helped even more when Scott finished his first and actually accepted a second.

And Jean-Paul eventually thought that his life would go on. And everything wasn't lost.

And even if it was because of the beer… he was glad for the revelation just the same.

_The End_

* * *

AN: Thanks a lot to everyone who stuck around for the ending! Yes, this is truly the end—when I started out three stories ago, this was the place I was aiming for. All is balanced in the world and as it should be. Sure, there are some open ended things… okay a lot of open ended things. But the story I wanted to tell the most is complete. 

Thanks a million go to Sue Penkivech, who has beta'd for me for nearly three years now. THREE YEARS. If I've gotten better (and god I hope I have) over that time, it's thanks to her. And that's a fact, not me being sappy. I'm bad at sap (though this chapter might've tried to convince you otherwise… sorta.)

Will it ever be continued? Not right now, no. Eventually? I'd be an idiot to say it won't, seeing as I have a whole other sequel planned (and have for a year at least now… but that's another story). For now, I'm going to concentrate on finishing up a few more issues of Fallen Angels with Sue, and doing the Warren and Jean fic called Wonderwall with Jen1703. You can find links to that stuff on my front page. I'm also running an Evo/Excalibur AU RPG called Muir Island currently—so if anyone wants to come and play with us, we'd absolutely love it.

Again, thanks for reading you guys. I hope you've been entertained—that's definitely what I'm here for.


End file.
